


Fortunate Son

by smallerluke



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pre-SEP Era, SEP era, Slow Burn, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 182,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallerluke/pseuds/smallerluke
Summary: Gabriel Reyes never dreamed of being a soldier before the first bombs dropped on Los Angeles.





	1. Chapter 1

The late August sun made everything loose and pliant. Shoes scuffed against blistering hot asphalt. Birds swooped low overhead, their cries almost lost to the constant background noise of the freeway. Gabriel Reyes dragged his feet to bring his bike to a shuddering stop, looking down the sloped street. He caught the edge of the Pacific ocean through the gap in the buildings, white caps shining silver under the sun.

Miguel's hand on his beanie nearly upset his balance.

"C'mon, Gabi, I need something to remember you by!" Miguel laughed from behind the stub of a cigarette. Miguel's problem was that he couldn't take a damn thing seriously, but Gabriel liked him for the most part, even when he was acting like an asshole. Which was all the time.

"Memories aren't enough, huh?"

His friend had a laugh like a dog puking up its lunch. He gave up on trying to steal Gabriel's beanie and settled for scruffing it over his head. "I'll never forget that trip we took down to Redondo Beach."

Gabriel snorted. "I wish I could forget."

Silence restored, they glided down the streets of Los Angeles, just two kids with nowhere to go. The long days of summer were almost over. It was unbearably hot, with tall, puffy clouds over the horizon. The kind of day that stretched on forever.

Miguel's hand smacked against his arm. "Hey, check that out."

He gestured with a thumb to their right and brought his bike to a stop. A coach bus coughed out fumes as it pulled away from a stop. A mass of people spilled out across the sidewalk. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"She's gorgeous." Miguel sucked a breath in between his teeth. Gabriel followed his eyes, but only saw a streak of white and yellow. Gabriel let his eyes follow the stranger, deaf to Miguel's lewd comments.

A kid—no, teenager—with scruffy blond hair and skin so pale he was almost white under the strength of the California sun. He squinted down the street, shoes dragging against the sidewalk. He was a tall wisp of a guy, poorly dressed for the heat in faded blue jeans and a yellow t-shirt. 

Miguel elbowed him in the ribs. "What do you want to bet I could get her number?"

"Huh?"

"Forget it," Miguel sighed. He settled back on his bike, hands in the pockets of his vest. "You know him?"

"Nah." Gabriel inhaled the sharp scents of the city. There was a bit of wind picking up, offering cool relief from the unrelenting sun. 

Still, he allowed his eyes to track the guy's movements. He walked with straight shoulders, eyes focused straight ahead. He didn't look local, but Gabriel knew better than to assume he knew shit about strangers.

"Alright. I gotta do it." Miguel wiped at his mouth. God, he was practically salivating over the poor woman. 

"Be nice this time, or I'll tell Roberta to kick your ass," Gabriel growled.

Miguel's shoes scuffed against the sidewalk. He was gone with a grind of gears, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in his wake. Gabriel sat back on his bike, with its chipped paint and broken gears, trying to ignore the pulse of curiosity.

Gabriel pushed his bike out from a standstill and glided down the sloped street. The breeze was wonderful over his skin, but he wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't riding the wrong way down the street by accident. Hard to miss someone wearing highlighter yellow, anyway.

A man cut across his path. Gabriel narrowly missed hitting him, and let out a string of curses, but the guy didn't stop to bother him. 

He was tracking the same target, wearing a sly little grin that told Gabriel all he needed to know. His beady little eyes were glued on the guy's ass like it was made of gold.

Before he could think better of it, he jerked his bike across the street and cut the pickpocket off again.

"Hey, dickhead." Gabriel brought his bike to a stop and leveled his best glare at the man. He was big enough to look intimidating, and pickpockets weren't known for being brave, anyway. "Don't you have some gutter to be getting back to?"

It was enough to convince the thief to give up and move on, with only a mutter of foul words. Gabriel sat on his bike, attention dragged back down the street. He was rolling before he could stop himself.

"Hey," he called out, "You lost or something?" 

He brought his bike up beside the guy, but he kept walking, eyes glued on the horizon. He was heading right into the reconstruction zone, which wasn't known for being hospitable to strangers. He certainly looked like an outsider, but he wasn't some slick rich kid on the wrong side of town. His shoes were beat up and worn out, and the duffel bag across his shoulder had been patched back together. Now that he was looking, the knees of his jeans were threadbare, though that could just be fashion.

"Gotta be careful around this part of town," he mumbled, "It gets a little rough."

The stranger's chin jerked his way. He had a strange, classic face, the kind he saw in movies but never in real life, even in Los Angeles. His eyes were as blue as the sky but not friendly in the least. "I can take care of myself."

A fresh sweat broke out across Gabriel's brow. The emotionless delivery made shame curl in his gut. Without thinking, he snapped, "You worried I'm gonna rob you?"

"No," the stranger said, "Not worried at all."

Gabriel tore his eyes away from the stranger's face and focused on the road ahead, circling the block and sweeping back around. The guy was walking in a perfectly straight line, like he knew exactly where he was going, or he was damned good at pretending.

"Where're you going?"

"What's it to you?"

"You look lost," Gabriel lied. "I could show you around. Lived here all my life."

"Nothing better to do?" The stranger ground to a halt, one hand clenched around the strap of his duffel bag. The thing looked heavy, but he didn't look like he was tired of carrying it around despite the heat. 

"Nah," Gabriel said, "Where'd you get off?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean—" Gabriel gestured at the bag. At him. His outfit. "You're going somewhere. How'd you end up here?"

"I took a bus," he mumbled. The guy stared straight down the gullet of the street. It was a gross part of town, and stunk like garbage, on account of the garbage that littered the road, left behind when reconstruction was abandoned. Picturesque. Charming. Quaint. Maybe one day it could be a strip of condos he could never dream of being able to afford.

"From?"

"Kansas City."

"Shit, really?"

The stranger leveled his strange, cool eyes on him. They bit into him like pieces of ice, but only made him feel hotter.

"Thought you talked funny," Gabriel said, "That's not where you're from, though, is it?"

"I don't see why you care."

Gabriel didn't have a real answer to give the guy, because there was no reason for him even to be talking to him. 

After a minute of silence, though, the stranger spoke again in his strange, flat voice. "Indiana."

It could have been a lie as easily as it could have been the goddamn truth. Gabriel couldn't guess at why the guy was entertaining him, either, but he smiled a little. 

"Farm boy. What brings you to the big city?"

"You keep asking," the stranger huffed.

"And you aren't answering."

The stranger set his jaw and walked along, doing a good job of ignoring Gabriel on his shitty bike for so many long minutes that Gabriel had half a mind to turn around and pedal back home. Something held him there, settled deep in his stomach. An unhealthy dose of curiosity and stubborn determination. Damn it.

Maybe he was just worried about the asshole getting mugged. He didn't look street-smart, and maybe his long legs were good for running, but it took more than a little speed to outrun someone on a motorbike or in a car. In truth, the streets had been pretty quiet. It was too hot even for the gangs, who were probably drinking lemonade on their grandmother's porches. Rationing kept the good stuff in the government's hands, anyway, so there wasn't much to steal even if you wanted to.

Scuffed white tennis shoes paused at the corner where a little man and his little wife sat on a bench, throwing scraps into the street. There weren't any birds. 

Farm Boy glanced down the street one way, with the kind of absent look that makes you wonder what a guy's thinking.

Gabriel stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts, feeling awfully proud of himself—like a fat, puffed-up pigeon—when the stranger said, in his straight-laced monotone, "I don't know where I am."

"Today's your lucky day," Gabriel said, "Tell me where you're headed, Farm Boy. I'll take you there."

He flashed one of his grins that always got smiles in return, but the stranger just looked at him with his lips pressed into a frown. His mirror-like eyes regarded him like he was an insect, barely interesting enough to warrant attention.

Anger flared under his skin, despite the burn of the sun. He let his foolish smile fade away, and scuffed his feet against the sidewalk, ready to pedal away from the rejection.

"The temp army base. Down by the ocean."

A thrill of adrenalin ran up his spine. The fire under his skin cooled, until he was neutral, with a warm sensation in his stomach like he'd just gone to eat somewhere nice and had a good cigarette after. Gabriel grinned through a response. "I know the way. Hop on."

"What?"

"Hop on." He thumbed over his back at the pegs on his bike. "You look tired. It's a few clicks from here."

More lies. The guy didn't look bothered at all by the weight of the bag or by the heat that had Gabriel sweating.

"On the pegs." He drew out the words. "You stand on them, I pedal, yeah?"

One of Farm Boy's eyebrows quirked, breaking his perfectly neutral mask. The guy stood back, staring hard at his beat-up bicycle like it was a wild animal he'd never seen before. "I'll fall off."

"I've got shoulders. I won't let you fall on your ass. Don't worry about it." He smiled, and for a split second he thought he saw the guy's mouth turn up at the corner. 

He moved slowly, one hand on Gabriel's shoulder. He felt the movement of the bike as he hopped onto the pegs. 

God, he was heavy. What the hell was in that bag? Everything he owned?

"You some kind of runaway?" He pushed his bike into action. The easy downward slope had leveled out, and he had to work to get his broken bike moving. 

"Eighteen. Legal adult. No such thing as running away."

Gabriel couldn't think of anything to say. He swept down the street, picking up speed despite their combined weight. 

"Lots of temp bases out in the Midwest," he grunted, "Why here?"

"I wanted to be closer to the fight," he said.

A noble wanna-be war hero. He shifted under the pressure of the guy's hands. "You came to the right place."

"Yeah," he said.

"You gonna be an officer?"

Farm Boy was quiet for a long time after he asked. Gabriel's legs ached with exertion, but there was no chance he'd pull to a stop. They passed through the reconstruction zone, and into a strip that looked a little less worse-for-wear. There hadn't been an air strike in months, but most of the construction was still halted. No money to pour into fixing buildings that might get toppled again.

The last quake had woken him and his little sisters in the middle of the night. Quakes didn't scare him. He'd thought it was a bomb. Or a few hundred bombs.

"Should have seen it a year ago," he said, "Used to be something."

He was drenched in sweat by the time the temp base appeared through a crack in the buildings. Farm Boy bailed, leaving his shoulders strangely light.

He pulled the duffel bag from his shoulder and let it swing down to the ground. He stared hard at the gate, gaze empty, like it was just another building. Just another place.

"Hey. Thanks," he muttered. "Appreciate it." 

There wasn't a note of appreciation in his voice, at least not like Gabriel was used to, but he accepted it with a shrug. "No problem. Hey—you got a name?"

The question made Farm Boy turn around, eyes locked on his, unblinking and uncomfortable. Like he was trying to stare into Gabriel's skull and pick apart his brain.

"Jack," he said.

"Just Jack?"

"That's it," he said, a little softer. A faint smile edged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a hand.

Gabriel was mindful of his sweaty palms and swept them against his shorts. "Reyes. Gabriel Reyes." It wasn't often that he shook hands. That was a little too formal for him. Jack's grip was practiced and precise.

"See you around, Reyes."

"Yeah, you might."

He waited there on his bike while the stranger was admitted at the gate. He hoped the guy would glance back, but he didn’t get so lucky.

Curiosity sated, he swung his bike around and glided down to the beach front. Not much to see anymore. No one went to the beach.

He sat in the sand, lit a cigarette, and breathed smoke into the perfect August day.

  



	2. Chapter 2

There wasn't any glass in the temp hall windows to keep the hot summer at bay. Gabriel wasn't the only one sweating under a starched collar. Gone was his beanie, gone was his head of loose curls. His bike was now the property of Frankie Reyes, his youngest sister. Tearful goodbyes stung in his memory. _I'm just around the corner_ , he'd told them, _And even when I'm not I'll always be thinking about you._

His training captain looked like he'd stepped right out of a movie, down to his steel-trap eyes. He called out names as he strode by. One by one, each new recruit barked, "Sir!", like rows of well-trained dogs. The lot of them more or less looked the same. Tall, broad-shouldered sons and daughters of America. Kids like him, young and naive, wanting to help turn the tide of war.

"Lars Lundgreen."

"Sir!"

"Loreena Cavil."

"Sir!"

"John Morrison."

A moment of silence—rare—and then, "Sir!"

Gabriel broke his own rule and craned his neck. The voice seemed familiar, and damn—he was right. Farm Boy stared straight ahead, like the commanding officer didn't exist. Rigid spine, set jaw, the perfect recruit.

He'd been given a shit name.

"Gabriel Reyes."

With a puff of his chest, he barked, louder than the rest had. "Sir!"

The commanding officer's composure faltered, just for a moment, but it felt like a victory. He took what was offered and grinned foolishly, full of piss and vinegar. Heads turned his way. A whisper leaked out among a few girls down the row. Maybe he was a hotheaded jackass. But there it was, exactly what he wanted—John Morrison's perfect blue eyes on him, narrowed in confusion.

Barracks assignments followed speeches. The dorms were standard but crowded, buzzing with words.

He climbed onto his bunk—he'd lucked out on a bottom—and flopped back, arms folded behind his head. Slow and lazy, the world spun out around him. A few months of his life in basic, and then he'd be at war.

"You didn't say anything."

Gabriel could feel a smirk tug at his lips before he opened his eyes. He pulled his arms away from his head and sat up a little, chin pulled back, looking down his nose at John Morrison.

He didn't seem so bright out of the sun and put into a plain set of military fatigues in vomit green. His arms were crossed, lips worried into a frown.

"You didn't ask," Gabriel said. That was the simple truth of it, even if it made him look like a dick in retrospect. Still, he liked surprising people. They always thought they knew him. Assumed he did shit like sold cigarettes to school kids and stole decorative flamingos from friendly neighborhood grannies. Maybe Farm Boy hadn't assumed anything about him at all. Maybe he hadn't cared enough.

John Morrison stared at him for a long time, perfectly silent.

"Well. Thanks," he grunted. He turned on his heel, paused, then wheeled back around, brow furrowed and eyes hard. Just staring at him. Gabriel's stomach churned under his glare.

"You're welcome, John." Gabriel smirked.

Farm Boy froze in place. His eyes blinked wide, just for a moment, before he snarled back, "That's my father's name."

If he didn't feel like an asshole before, he sure did now. "Didn't know. Sorry."

He turned away with a wave of his hand and mumbled, "Jack. Just call me Jack."

-

After wondering about it for months, Gabriel realized that the reason the stores didn't carry chocolate anymore was because the military had rationed it, and the first bite he was allowed the first Friday on base was delightful despite the chalky texture.

Tatiana dealt out cards on the court to an assembled group who wilted under the August sun.

"Goddamn," she swore at her hand of cards, "Today's not my day."

Judging from his hand, it wasn't his, either.

Basic training had taken it's toll. Every muscle in Gabriel's body ached, and there was no respite. Nothing to do but suck it up and wait for his body to adjust. He rolled a beat-up basketball between his hands, uninterested in cards. Only another hour before mess. A carrier drifted by like a lazy cloud overhead. It was still his city, still his home. Somehow he didn't feel too out of place; after all, the group assembled could have been his friends had he lived in a different neighborhood.

"What're we bettin'?" Poppy asked, tongue stuck in her cheek. He didn't have to peek at her cards to know she had a good hand. "C'mon, let's make this interesting."

"I don't have any money," Tatiana said. The others murmured their agreement.

Poppy's eye turned to the chocolate in Gabriel's hand. "Rations for next Friday?"

Hungry eyes looked at him. Gabriel laughed and gave his approval. They played under the scorching sun until the odds turned in his favor, and they left one by one, leaving him and Poppy—her tongue stuck between shiny white teeth—to battle for supremacy. A pair of twos won him the match and a string of curses.

The crowd that braved the sun to escape the confines of the barracks slowly drifted back inside, until Gabriel was the last out on the court. If it could be called that. The temp base had been a summer camp and a strip mall, before air strikes had flattened the area. Cracked, uneven concrete hazarded his steps, but there was a hoop.

The ball half-heartedly bounced. He swished it three times and then bounced it off the rim.

Gabriel had half a mind to stick it out in the sun, but turned toward the mess hall just as one of the flimsy back doors opened and Farm Boy slipped out, a tray of food balanced under one arm.

"Hey, Jack," Gabriel called out, "Goin' somewhere?"

His voice caught Farm Boy off guard, but he wasn't wearing anything close to a guilty expression. Silent, Morrison adjusted his path. With a scruff of boots he parked himself down on the side of the court under a slip of shade offered by a shed.

He just sat there, one hand folded under his chin, staring at Gabriel like he was the one who was doing something questionable.

It had only been a week, and maybe he was wrong, but Gabriel felt like he never saw Morrison in the mess hall except for breakfast.

Morrison sat there a few minutes longer, with those unnerving blue eyes locked on him. Not touching his food, not talking, expressionless. Like he was made of wood.

"Something I can do for you?"

"You any good?"

"That a challenge, Morrison?" Gabriel rolled the ball between his palms. The sun beat down on the back of his neck, making him sweat, and his stomach was growling, but he ached for a challenge.

He could beat some farm kid in a one-on-one, no questions asked. He was better than most of his friends and had been captain of his high school team. A little competition never hurt.

Morrison tipped his head toward the hoop and stared at it like it was going to answer for him.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and snapped the ball to Morrison. It hit him square in the rest with a puff of air, bounced on the concrete, and rolled back toward his feet. Morrison stared at him with hard eyes.

"Try catching it this time."

He passed it again. Morrison managed to catch it. "Asshole."

"Yeah, yeah. Gonna play or not?" Gabriel stalked across the court to give Morrison space. Farm Boy rolled the ball in his hands, frowning at it like it had offended him. "Wanna make this interesting?"

One of Morrison's eyebrows peaked. For a second his hard eyes had a spark of light behind them. "How so?"

"I just won five rations of chocolate due next Friday," he said, "How's that?"

Morrison's mouth twitched at the corner. "I'd be paying you back for five weeks on a loss?"

"You got it."

Morrison's fingers drummed on the ball. His brow drew, mouth tucked up at the corner. Considering the odds. Eyes hard and distant. Then, with a snap of movement, he dribbled, ducked around Gabriel, leapt, and swished the ball.

Gabriel half-expected a cocky grin to spread across Morrison's features, but he was still and watchful, like the outcome didn't matter to him either way.

He swept up the ball and moved down the court, away from Morrison's reach. "You play in school?"

"A little."

Morrison made a valiant attempt to retrieve the ball, but Gabriel knew the play and danced it out of reach. "What're you doing out here, anyway? Something wrong with the mess hall?"

"Could ask you the same thing," Morrison grunted.

Gabriel laid it up and the ball skimmed the rim before dropping through. "One one."

Morrison was slow to start, but one he got into it, Gabriel had to work to keep ahead. Sweat beaded across his brow. There was a lot of noise from the mess hall. The ocean roared in the distance. Blood pounded in his ears.

He was playing to win, but Morrison kept pace. They were nine to nine when Morrison moved fast, swiping the ball out from under him and leaping toward the ball. He rolled his palm to smack the ball down through the hoop without grazing the rim.

His hand slapped against the rim. For a second Morrison hung there, and then plastic snapped and his expression shifted from grim determination to shock.

"Shit, Morrison!"

He tumbled to the ground with arms flailing uselessly for purchase, and hit concrete on his back. Wind rushed out from his lungs. He twisted to one side and smacked his head loudly against concrete.

"Jack?" The fight was gone from Gabriel in a second. He crouched by Morrison's side.

Morrison's face was scrunched up in annoyance, panting for breath. A long, slim gash ran along his hairline. Bloody, messy, but nothing to worry about.

He touched Morrison's forehead just shy of the gash. His pale skin was slick with sweat and blood. Farm Boy winced and hissed at the touch.

"What were you thinking?"

"Wasn't," Morrison grunted.

"You're a mess." Gabriel put an arm under Morrison's back and got him to sit up.

Morrison planted a palm against the gash. Blood dripped down his wrist.

Before Gabriel could think to get assistance, there was a uniform on the court with a hand in the back of his shirt. "Fighting will not be tolerated. You know better. With me, now."

Despite his words—despite Morrison's—he was hauled off and given a verbal licking in a hot, stuffy little office by a hot, stuffy little man. An hour later he was scrubbing the latrine floors, burning under his collar, until another uniform came along to apologize for the misunderstanding.

Never before had he endured so much as detention.

Tired, seething, and starved, Gabriel folded himself into his bunk at midnight.

-

Friday rolled around again. Gabriel collected his winnings despite the many pleas for debts to be forgiven and made his way to Bravo Barracks. Morrison laid out on his bunk, arms crossed over his chest and eyes clamped shut.

Except he wasn't asleep. "Hey," Morrison mumbled, "Haven't been able to find you."

"You were looking?"

"Wanted to apologize. About last week."

"It's nothing," Gabriel lied. Some old shit had assumed the worst of him, what else was new? He was sore and angry and had never felt more out of place, but that wasn't Morrison's fault. "And I keep my word."

Gabriel pulled out an armful of chocolate bars and dumped them on top of Morrison's chest. Slowly, Morrison unwound his arms and picked up the bars, one by one, mouth tucked in at the corner. "I thought we bet on five."

"We did."

"There's twenty here."

"How's your head?"

Morrison touched a finger to the small, neat stitches on his brow, like he'd already forgotten about them. He pushed his hands past the stitches into his short, scruffy hair. "Thanks."

Gabriel was a few steps away when he dared to look back and caught a trace of a smile on Morrison's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks in, clouds closed off the sky and rain drummed against the tin roof of the shooting gallery. It was stark and empty inside, but Gabriel's head roiled with a storm of thoughts.

He'd never held a gun before setting foot on base. He'd been foolish to assume it wasn't difficult. Click off the safety and pull the trigger, someone had told him once, through a breath of ashy smoke. Nothing about the weight of it felt right in his hands.

That someone was still out there, drugged out of his head. Maybe it made the war easier. Maybe it made life easier. How could you live with yourself, knowing you were the reason someone got buried at seventeen?

Gabriel scrambled to assemble the rifle. The metal pieces were slick in his sweaty palms. He hadn’t gotten the hang of it, not like some of the others had. Some of them were street kids trying to pull themselves out of a cycle for the betterment of mankind. More of them were like him, middle class kids with no future if the war didn’t end.

They didn’t have targets in the gallery. Just scrap Omnic pieces. The one in front of him—fresh, unscarred—was a bastion unit, just a head and part of a torso. It seemed to stare at him despite being dead as dirt.

Click together the pieces, load ammunition, lift it to your shoulder and make your shot. That’s what they did during drills. They were supposed to know their weapons inside and out, in case they jammed out in the field. And he’d heard enough stories about how often that happened to know he had to figure it out.

Nothing had ever seemed so _hard_.

When it was done, Gabriel shouldered the rifle and squeezed the trigger. The pulse rifle made a _pop_ , and the projectile landed against the wall of the shed. A full meter shy of the Omnic’s hull.

He cursed and threw down the rifle. It shot of a round of hot plasma into the floor behind him.

“Watch it.”

Gabriel let out more curses to ease his snapped nerves. Jack Morrison stood with the door of the gallery open, soaked through from the rain, with his rifle slung across his back. His strange, cold eyes dragged from Gabriel to the rifle on the floor. He bent to pick it up and handed it back to Gabriel. He not-so-gracefully snatched it back, his pride wounded, his heart hammering in his chest.

Morrison slid the rifle off his shoulder, loaded his round, and landed a full clip into the Omnic’s head.

Of course. Jack Morrison was a perfect shot. How could he not be? Gabriel slammed his rifle down on the table and began the slow process of pulling the pieces apart. Sweaty hands extended the process, worsened by his distraction. Like he was an Omnic himself, Morrison’s hands moved in perfect order to pull the pieces apart, snap them back together, and lift the rifle to his shoulder. Another clip pinged against the metal bastard. It stung against Gabriel’s ears.

Finally done, and much too mindful of himself, he lifted the rifle, looked down the sights, and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. He’d left the safety on, like an rookie. He snapped his thumb over it and hoped Morrison hadn’t noticed. No such luck. Farm boy looked at him like he was barely interesting.

“Something I can do for you?” Gabriel snapped.

Morrison returned his attention to his own rifle, playing fingers across the parts. Gabriel spent the rest of the clip and missed every shot. One came close, though, a few centimeters shy of the Omnic’s shoulder. In the field it would have been a valiant but thoroughly useless attempt. Gabriel was fuming when he set the lock and slid out the empty clip.

The ping of bullets ceased. Gabriel’s skin burned under the weight of clear eyes. Morrison had a way of setting him on fire.

Morrison leaned with his arms crossed against a pillar, his expression perfectly level, rifle forgotten.

“Quit staring.”

“Square up.”

The command—that’s exactly what it was—only made the burning _worse_ , and Gabriel grumbled under his breath and hoped Morrison couldn’t hear.

“Not everyone gets it right away,” Morrison said. “The first thing is not to think about it.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice, kid.”

Kid. That made Morrison flinch. He unfolded his arms, stalked uncomfortably close, and pulled the rifle from Gabriel’s hands. He stared hard at Gabriel as he worked the pieces apart. “It’s memory. Instinct.” With the rifle pulled apart, he settled back against the pillar. “You’re thinking about it too much. You know how to do it.”

Gabriel stared at the pieces. Morrison had spread them out in a grid of some kind. “It’s not a fuckin’ puzzle.”

“Try it.”

“Try what?”

“Not thinking about it.”

Gabriel thought it was a joke. What else could it be? Don’t think about it? What good was being the top in your school if you _weren’t_ supposed to use your brain? But he didn’t know what else to do under the scrutiny of Morrison’s sharp eyes. His sweaty hands fumbled the parts. Impossible not to think. He tried to think about other things. Chocolate. Where the show he used to watch with his family had left off. The rush of wind through his hair as he pedaled on his wreck of a bike through a neighborhood that had always been home, would always be home.

“You’ve got it,” Morrison said, “It’s just a gun. It doesn’t fight you. You tell it what to do.”

Gabriel moved the rifle between his hands. Maybe Morrison had a point. Maybe he’d shaved off a few seconds.

He lifted it to his shoulder—thumbed the safety—and unloaded a clip of hot plasma a meter shy of the machine’s hull.

“Good stance,” Morrison said, “Keep it steady.”

Gabriel wanted to yell at him, to push him away, but he wasn’t that guy. Maybe Morrison wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was being stubborn. No, definitely.

Gabriel tightened his grip on the rifle and squeezed the trigger.

Missed. Again. Of course.

Morrison set a hand against Gabriel’s back, and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact. Before he could utter curses or push him away, Morrison’s steady eyes froze him in place. “Remember to breathe. Inhale. Don’t think, just look. Pull the trigger in between breaths.”

Gabriel set his eye on the target. “Where’d you learn all this?”

“Military school.”

“Ah.” That explained it, and cooled the fire under Gabriel’s skin. Kid wasn’t some kind of prodigy, just someone with a lot of practice. “You start out like shit, too?”

“Focus.”

Gabriel followed through with the orders. Breathe in, squeeze the trigger before breathing back out. Plasma shot through the air and might have grazed the side of the unit.

“You see that?”

“Yeah.”

The burn under his muscles faded, replaced with something else, something warm and blossoming. He could do this. He could _do_ this.

In. Squeeze. Out. Plasma hit the bastion unit’s torso.

He didn’t think, just acted, thought about nothing else but his breathing and unloading hot plasma into the bastard Omnic’s hull.

When the clip was spent, he eagerly unloaded it and worked the rifle apart. It was back together in seconds and he had the rifle pressed against his shoulder again, finger on the trigger, Jack’s hand on his shoulder.

He and Morrison stayed in the gallery together until curfew was called. He hadn’t been able to land a single shot in the Omnic’s head, but he’d get there. It just took time.

-

Morrison was easy to find during the day, but once the day was called he would disappear, and Gabriel didn’t think much of it. He was out on the court one afternoon when a high-pitched whistle caught his attention. The mess hall sat on the edge of the base and was separated from the rest of the city by a 3-meter fence. Behind that fence was Miguel, Luis, and Roberta, who beckoned to him eagerly.

“Hey, big man. How’re you adjusting?”

“Just fine. Roberta, how’s your dad?”

“He’s okay, or will be. Too stubborn to let us take care of him.” Roberta hooked her fingers through the fence and pursed her lips into a frown. “Saw your folks at the market yesterday. They’re doing fine. Miss you like crazy. When can you visit?”

“Not for another couple weeks.”

“You gonna come see us, too?” Luis asked, “Or we gotta drag our asses out here?”

“Like it’s that far,” Roberta purred. “Would have brought your sisters, but they’re too little, I think.”

“I’ll see them before long.”

They talked as Miguel pulled out a pack of cigarettes—cheap, but good—and dealt them out. He passed a silver lighter between them. The first draw, after weeks without, made Gabriel cough. He smirked past it. “I can’t believe they got worse.”

“You know how it is,” Miguel said, “And you should thank me.”

“Probably.”

For a quiet moment they dragged on their cigarettes and breathed smoke out into the late summer sky, their heads free of worry. Miguel ruined it, of course.

“Fuck, incoming.”

Gabriel tucked his cigarette to his side and turned, expecting the asshole who’d accused him of fighting, but saw Morrison instead, with his head down, eyes glued on his boots, going nowhere fast with his hands tucked into his pockets. Gabriel hoped for a second that he’d keep walking, but he stopped and lifted his head. His nose twitched. He could smell the smoke.

Morrison glared, not at the cigarette that Gabriel pulled back to his lips, but at his friends behind the fence.

“Want one?” Gabriel called out.

Miguel hissed under his breath, “I didn’t offer him any—wait. He look familiar?”

Morrison shook his head, but walked closer. He squinted at the cigarette. “That’s shit for your lungs.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabriel responded, “You gonna tell on me?”

“No.” Morrison reached out and plucked it from his fingers without warning and flicked it to the ground. He ground it into the pavement with the heel of his boot. Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat.

“The fuck, Morrison?”

Farm Boy just walked away, leaving Gabriel with a lungful of smoke, and a trio of friends who laughed at him the second Morrison was out of earshot.

“Isn’t that the guy you chased down the street few weeks back?” Miguel asked, with a practiced rise of one brow. “He always so concerned about you?”

Roberta rattled the fence. “Gabriel!”

“He’s just some guy,” he grunted, “Could I have another?”

Miguel shrugged and relented after Gabriel made a show of begging for it, and passed over the rest of the pack and his lighter. There was only one left anyway. “You guys gonna swing by again?”

“Could try,” Luis said, “It’s getting worse.”

“What, with the curfew?”

“Yeah. Never used to enforce it. Now…” Luis raised his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “They’ve got kids right out of basic geared up for it. Heard some things.”

“I haven’t.”

“You enjoy that,” Miguel said, “We’ll see you.”

Gabriel waited by the fence until he couldn’t see them anymore. He wasn’t hungry, so he walked along the perimeter of the base, eager to find a spot to enjoy his cigarette. No point in saving it; inspection would drag it up.

The narrow space between the barracks—empty, for the moment—was cloaked in shadows. Gabriel ducked down and shimmied down the side of the barracks until he came out behind them. There wasn’t much room between them and the crumbling concrete wall that had once separated the strip mall from the freeway. The freeway didn’t exist anymore, either.

He folded down on the ground and bit his tongue when a voice snapped, “The hell do you want?”

Gabriel swore under his breath at Jack Morrison—of _course_ it had been him, who else?—as he gathered his nerves. Farm Boy sat with his legs braced against the wall, tucked in some weird way with his arms crossed. No way it could have been comfortable. He glared at Gabriel with his cold blue eyes.

“The hell are you doing back here?”

“The hell are _you_ doing here?” Morrison shot back. For a moment Gabriel floundered for what to say—a problem he rarely had—and filled his silence with a glare. Morrison didn't wither under it like some of the other recruits had. Like the would-be pickpocket had. In fact, the glare he returned was as strong as his own.

Gabriel pulled his prize from his pocket and flicked out the lighter. He held both up for Morrison to see. “That's what. Thanks for stamping out the last one.”

“I told you, it's shit for your lungs.”

“What do you care?”

Morrison's arms tightened. His shoes scuffed against the concrete wall. Somehow, he contorted himself into an even weirder position. Gabriel was uncomfortable just looking at him.

He never got an answer. Gabriel flicked the lighter and watched the flame before taking a long drag. He didn't cough that time. Gabriel breathed out smoke and watched it settle on the air. It tasted like ash. He set it between his fingers and watched the glowing embers. “I've only got the one.”

No answer. Gabriel held it out for Morrison and wondered if he'd take it. Farm Boy squinted at it, arms still tightly folded around his chest.

He started to pull it away and Morrison's hand snapped out. He drew it to his mouth with a jerk and took a short puff. He hacked a cough, frowned at it, and passed it back. Gabriel enjoyed the next pull. He couldn't blow smoke rings, but he gave it a valiant effort.

“Thanks.”

“What are you doing out here, anyway?”

He didn't expect an answer. He expected nothing but Morrison's practiced silence. Shock coiled in his stomach when Morrison started up, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to be alone. I just wanted it to be quiet.”

“I'm not helping, am I?”

Morrison leaned back and rested his head against the barracks. “I don't mind.”

“Sure sounded like you did a second ago,” Gabriel muttered. There was a lot he wanted to say, like, w _hy can't I figure you out?_  and _why the fuck did you stamp out my cigarette?_ But he clamped down on his tongue.

Morrison frowned at that. “Sorry.”

That was it. Sorry. Gabriel shrugged. His cigarette was no more than a stub. “Well, enjoy it,” he said as he unfolded himself, “I'll let you alone.”

Morrison didn’t protest. Gabriel left with warmed lungs but a scrambled head, made for his barracks, and folded himself into his bunk before the others came back from mess so he'd have a few minutes to read in the quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

August dragged on into September, the nights turned colder, and Gabriel settled into his new life.

Week three had been awful, but from there, it had gotten better. Hard to remember when his muscles stopped hurting. One day, he wasn’t sore after running laps. Tatiana had squeezed his arms and complemented him thoroughly. At breakfast one day, she elbowed him as Morrison passed with his tray tucked under his arm.

“Heard a rumor he’s getting moved out,” she said, “It’ll make the rest of us look better.”

It wasn’t like Tatiana to be petty, but Gabriel understood what she meant. Fastest kid on base and the best shot. He would have been prime officer material if he had a personality. Too quiet to lead, but great at following orders. A well trained dog. “How soon?”

“Two weeks. Like I said, it’s just a rumor.”

Gabriel decided to ask him about it, but didn’t have an opportunity for another week. He caught Morrison out on the court during evening mess, in the slip of shade offered by the shed. The orange sun hung over the ocean. Beautiful, but it was a typical chilly night.

Morrison picked at the food on his tray, leaned over on his elbows, staring out with his blank eyes.

“Hey.” Artful. Eloquent. They weren’t friends—he wasn’t sure Morrison was capable of making friends—but they’d talked enough that it didn’t feel weird to single him out.

Morrison grunted in response.

“We get leave next week,” he said, “Looking forward to it?”

Farm Boy scrunched up his eyes. “You got family?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel returned, “Got lucky, too. It’s Bianca’s Quinceañera. I was worried about missing it.”

“Her—that’s like a sweet sixteen, right?”

“Half-right. Fifteen.” He folded down on the ground next to Morrison, almost like they were old friends, and kept talking. “It’s a big party, you know. Well—Bianca’s won’t be, not like Ariana’s, anyway. Not a lot of money around the house anymore. Not since my dad lost his job.” More accurately, the school where his pop had worked was destroyed in an early Omnic air strike. No one had bothered to rebuild it. “Still wouldn’t miss it. She’d kill me.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Four. You got any?”

“Nah.”

“Brothers?”

Morrison shook his head. “Just me.”

“What’s that like?”

Gabriel expected him to say _quiet_ , or _peaceful_ , but Morrison skirted around an answer and asked a question of his own. “How’d you manage with _four_?”

“It’s nothing,” Gabriel said. “Don’t know where I’d be without them.”

“Sounds nice.”

“You going home?” Gabriel leaned back against the barracks, arms folded behind his head, trying to sound like an answer didn’t matter. “Kansas?”

“Indiana,” Morrison corrected, “And—no.”

Morrison drew away and set upon pushing his food around on his tray.

_Eighteen. Legal adult. No such thing as running away._

Like any typical nineteen-year old, Gabriel hadn’t learned when to shut up. Without thinking, he said, “You could come stay with me.”

He bit down on his tongue— _hard_ —when Morrison went straight and rigid as a board. Of course. Learning tact wasn’t part of basic.

“There’s lots of room at the house,” he rambled, “Lots of kids have stayed with us. After their houses were blown up, or—” like how his aunt and uncle and little cousins had come to stay for a month after Joel was killed, like how Roberta had camped out on his couch after her parents kicked her out for a pregnancy scare. His mother—bless her heart—had weathered them all through storms of every kind. “—it’d be no trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. Better than sticking it out here by yourself.”

“I like the quiet,” Morrison murmured, eyes cast out over the horizon.

“Well—the offer stands,” Gabriel grumbled. Chastened and embarrassed, he left without another word, and retreated to the barracks with burning skin and a churning stomach.

“Reyes? You okay?” Tatiana had sweet instincts, but even better, knew when to talk and when to leave him alone. He didn’t want to be alone.

He told her everything, and she had the nerve to laugh at him. “Morrison? Really? You don’t think he’s—y’know—”

“What?”

“Weird.” She widened her eyes and stared hard at him. “He never talks to anyone except to say ‘sir!’. And those eyes, it’s like he sees straight through you.”

“I noticed that part,” he grumbled.

Tatiana flopped onto his bunk and asked him to braid her hair. She talked as he twisted her coarse, black strands. “Did you ask him about his promotion?”

Gabriel’s stomach curled. So did his lip. “I forgot.”

-

His house was a complete and utter _disaster_. Aunts and uncles and cousins and friends—many of whom he’d ever never met or had already forgotten—crammed into their humble two-story house. And it was _loud_ , even before Bianca’s birthday. Gabriel thought his skull would explode from the noise, from the attention, from the shock of it after being away for so long.

If it was getting to him, he had no idea how much it had to be bothering Morrison.

That morning, while everyone packed up to leave, Morrison had shown up at his bunk with his things thrown over his shoulder. Didn’t say a thing, just stared off into the distance. Tatiana had given him a wide berth on her way out.

His sisters—all save Bianca, who was busy being fussed over by everyone over forty—crowded around Morrison, each armed with questions and their own unique interrogation techniques. Morrison expertly danced away from giving any answers more descriptive than _yes_ or _no._

Gabriel was more than a little jealous—only their brother back from basic training, and only for three days—so he locked himself in his old room with a cup of steaming coffee. His room was small—a literal closet that his parents had converted as soon as they decided he was too old to share a room with Ariana and Paloma—and was, he realized, embarrassing. Band posters crammed the walls. He’d hung up a recruitment poster over his single bed. At least he’d gotten rid of most of his things before he left for college. Gabriel unrolled a thin mat and spread out a sleeping bag that stunk like the closet down the hall. It’d have to do—there wasn’t any space left in the house for another soul. He’d be lucky if he got a lick of sleep with Uncle Jose in the house, who snored like a chainsaw.

Gabriel sank onto his bed and hit the radio on the windowsill. Static. He searched for a station, found nothing he wanted to listen to, shut it off in time to hear footsteps coming down the hall.

Frankie popped her head in the door. Ten-year-old Frankie had big brown eyes, wild curls, and a gap-toothed smile that never seemed to fade. “You’re hiding!” with a laugh she hopped onto his bed and tackled him in a hug, giggling all the while. “What’s the matter, Gabriel?”

He ruffled her hair, much to her amusement, and said nothing, nothing was wrong.

“You gonna come downstairs?”

“Nah,” Gabriel said, “Need a little peace before the big day.”

“Bianca won’t let me help,” Frankie pouted, “I’m stuck washing dishes.”

“Don’t worry, Frankie. I’ll help you out.”

Frankie curled up into his lap—she’d never understood personal space—and rambled to him about how school was going. A boy had pushed her off the slide and she’d decked him. Homework was going fine, of course—Frankie was brilliant—but she didn’t like art class or the girls who called her egghead. She reminded him of himself, ego and all, and soon Gabriel had emptied his cup of coffee and was laughing with his kid sister, like he’d never left.

Footsteps silenced Frankie’s bright laughter. She hopped off the bed and poked her head around the door. A second later, she was gone, and returned with Morrison wrapped around her arm. A weary expression greeted Gabriel.

“Hey, Morrison.”

“Hey.”

Gabriel saw the duffel bag on Morrison’s shoulder and leapt to retrieve it. He set it down in the corner and rubbed at the back of his neck. Thankfully, Morrison was watching Frankie instead of him, with the kind of curiosity an only child always has about siblings.

“So this is Jack?” Frankie had asked, in her sweet sing-song voice that only meant trouble.

“Yep.”

“We need to talk.” Frankie fell to the floor and crossed her legs underneath herself. With a rigid spine she sucked in a deep breath and commanded, “Polish.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Polish!”

Gabriel grumbled as he searched the dresser. There was a single bottle of black from his middle school days hidden among nearly-identical pairs of plaid pajama pants. “I think it’s dried up.”

“It’ll have to do.”

Morrison sat down on the edge of Gabriel’s bed. Gabriel made a show of not looking directly at him. He and Frankie had a few traditions—ones Paloma had started but was now too old for—that might seem odd to a hardened military kid.

Before Gabriel could think of anything to say to Morrison, Frankie caught him in one of her practiced kid-stares and ordered, “Sit down here with us!”

Morrison’s expression blanked and evened out, before his mouth scrunched and he lowered himself off the bed. He couldn’t even sit like a normal person. He rested on his haunches like he was starting karate lessons.

He shrugged his shoulders at Morrison, as if to apologize, but Morrison didn’t so much as flinch when Frankie grabbed his hand and made a messy stroke on his short fingernails.

“This isn’t your color,” she deadpanned as she worked away. “I think you’re a blue guy.”

“You said you needed to talk, sis?”

“Bianca has a boyfriend and I’m not supposed to tell,” she grumbled with a prominent pout. “At least I think he’s her boyfriend. I see him ride past the house sometimes. One time I saw them holding hands.”

“She caught you?”

“She caught me!” Frankie gasped, “She said she’d pay me five dollars a week if I didn’t tell.”

“What’re you gonna do with all that money?”

“She hasn’t paid me yet.” Frankie lifted Morrison’s hand and squinted at her work. “I don’t think she even has five dollars.”

“Does that mean you want to tell?”

Frankie sighed. “Yeah, but secrets are valuable.”

Morrison snorted. Gabriel narrowed his eyes at his fellow soldier and grunted, “So you’re gonna blackmail her?”

“I’m thinking about it! She never helps me do my hair anymore. She says she’s too _busy_.”

“Well, I’m not too busy.” Gabriel shimmied in behind her, worked the elastics out of her hair, and started the arduous work of combing out her thick curls. Morrison seemed content just to sit in silence while Frankie worked on the second coat.

He parted Frankie’s hair into sections and had just started to twine the strands together when Frankie turned his blood to ice.

“Bianca said you’d bring home a boy.”

Gabriel might have pulled her hair a little, because she hollered at him to watch it. He scrambled for something to say—anything—and the person to save him was Morrison. Like he’d read Gabriel’s mind.

“My family is too far away to visit. Gabriel said I could stay here because I have nowhere else to go.”

Something that was _almost_ a smile tugged at Morrison’s mouth, and suddenly Gabriel’s mouth was dry as ash and his skin burned like he was cooking under the sun.

Frankie got bored as soon as her hair was braided and Gabriel was spared the manicure. “I don’t know what to do! If she gets money for her birthday could I ask for it?”

“Devious.”

“Well it’s not my birthday for five months,” Frankie sighed, “I told Papi I want the biggest chocolate bar you can buy. I saw it on TV once. Bigger than my head! I haven’t had any candy in months, Gabriel.” She swept a hand to her forehead and made a show of it. “I. Am. _Dying_!”

“You’re in luck,” Morrison quipped. Gabriel craned his head to watch as he leaned over to his duffel bag and dragged it towards him. He rustled through the contents for a painfully long moment. Frankie’s big brown eyes watched him like a hawk.

A chocolate bar appeared in Morrison’s hand. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Frankie’s eyes got _bigger_ , and she snatched the bar from Morrison’s hands, squeezed her arms around his neck in the most aggressive hug Gabriel had ever seen, and sprinted out of the room, screaming, “I am a champion!”

“You’re gonna regret that later, if you think she’s hyper now,” Gabriel grumbled. Though it was hard not to smile. Maybe Morrison wasn’t so bad, even if he was weird and cagey. “But hey, that was really cool of you. Didn’t think you’d have any left.”

“You gave me twenty-six. I counted,” Morrison returned.

“How’d you manage to hide all of that from inspection?”

As usual, Morrison didn’t answer, but his silence didn’t seem uncomfortable.

After that, it didn’t feel strange for Morrison to be around, and they went back downstairs to help with dinner. Morrison cut up peppers with Ariana and somehow managed not to cry. A feat of superhuman strength. Gabriel was useless in the kitchen, which meant he was relegated to setting the table and fetching, which meant laps around the kitchen following orders from Mama like a bus-boy at a fancy restaurant. They ate on the porch, with orange painted upon the garden, laughing until his ribs hurt and his heart felt like it was swollen. Home. He’d missed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

Uncle Jose whooped and hollered and slapped a hand down on Gabriel’s back, so hard it knocked the breath right out of him. Frankie leapt out of her seat and joined him in his reverie, slapping her hand down between his shoulder blades. “No, no, like this!” She tugged at Gabriel’s cheeks, and he let her even though her hands were sticky—probably from the chocolate Morrison had _oh so_ brilliantly decided to give her—until his lip was rolled up. “Look! He’s _happy_!”

“Cuff if ouf.” He mumbled, as best he could.

“Francesca!”

His mother’s tone halted Frankie in her tracks. She sat down with a sweet smile. “Perdón”, mama. Perdón, Gabriel."

“Ah, practicing your Spanish? ¿Cómo van tus lecciones?" Uncle Jose asked.

"¡Todo bien!"

Uncle Jose’s chest rumbled with a hum, and Gabriel cringed as far away as his chair would allow. He leaned back and cranked the radio dial. No way he would start singing—not in front of company—nope. Wrong.

It was his worst nightmare. His mother and father joined in, and then his sisters, and the whole house rumbled with their off-key singing. It was wrong, on so many different levels. Morrison sat at the end of the table, his eyes wide and bright with either wonder or confusion. Surely the kid thought his family was weird at this point. His skin burned hot again. It seemed it never stopped from the second he’d stepped off base. Bianca looked similarly mortified, only because she had four of her own friends over, and one was already snickering into a cupped hand.

“Anyone want dessert?” He yelled the question and ducked for the kitchen before he could get an answer. God, his skin had burned like the fires of hell had been sparked in his dining room. Gabriel folded against the counters, arms over his head— he probably looked ridiculous—and bit down on his lip. Hard. Not only was he _mortified_ , but the tune made him think of his cousin Joel, who had seemed like an unstoppable force of nature when Gabriel was sixteen. Back then he had a car that was old and rusted. Once the side mirrors had fallen off when he was sitting with that tune cranked up in the driveway, smoking and laughing with his friends. They’d given him one that night—his first—and then none of their teasing had mattered. No one called him his dead name. They’d taken him on a ride he wished he could forget.

His skin prickled to signal that he was no longer alone. He jolted upright. The swing of his arm sent dessert forks and spoons flying through the air to clatter and ring on the tiled floors. Just Morrison, with little Frankie draped on his arm, like he was something she’d won at the carnival.

“I, uh—thought you might want a hand,” Morrison grumbled. Frankie lifted herself up on his arm and swung her legs as soon as she seemed sure Morrison wouldn’t drop her.

“I can help, too!”

Gabriel dropped to the floor and focused on collecting the utensils, hyper-aware under the combined weight of Frankie’s big eyes and Morrison’s cool stare. Despite her offer, Frankie just grinned down at him.

Dessert was cake. It looked deceptively good, but Gabriel knew better. He threw the utensils back in the sink and fetched clean ones. Morrison was already at work cutting pieces, with Frankie’s supervision. “No, no. Uncle Jose needs more than that. At least twice as big. That’s good. No, no, more for me. More!”

Morrison slid him a plate. The serving was barely more than a sliver. Frankie winked and stuck out her tongue. “So generous.”

“Mama said you looked heavy!” she chirped.

“That’s the point,” Gabriel grumbled, “Don’t you have anything nice to say?”

"¡Me gusta tu amigo!" Frankie hugged her arms around Morrison’s and hefted herself up. One small foot flew out towards his head. Her flip-flop slapped against his cheek before he could curse and duck away.

Bianca and her friends spilled into the kitchen, giggling. His sister was red as a tomato. Frankie soon lost interest in Gabriel, and began to babble in Spanish to Bianca’s youngest friend, Clara.

Clara was harmless. Marcia was anything but. He’d been forced to listen to Miguel wax poetic about her far too many times to count. She’d have nothing to do with him.

Morrison, though—she gazed at him—there was no other word for it—and leaned against the counter.

She said something in Spanish that he could barely understand, but her tone was clear as day.

She laughed and touched Morrison’s arm, like he’d told a joke. His blue eyes swung over to her like he was seeing her for the first time.

"Déjalo en paz," Gabriel muttered in the best Spanish he could muster. It worked. Marcia rolled her eyes and rejoined Bianca.

“She’s trouble,” he whispered to Morrison when she was out of earshot. “Cake?”

-

With the window open, Gabriel could hear the sounds of the city that he’d missed so much. The neighbor’s yowling cats. The kids who prowled the streets as soon as it got dark, testing the curfew. Aircraft sweeping over the houses toward the airport. A car engine—old, gasoline—sputtered and caught in the distance. Down the hall Bianca gossiped with her friends, half in English and half in Spanish. Uncle Jose had yet to start snoring, which meant he and Auntie were still awake out on the porch with his parents.

Cicadas sang in the summer night heat. A cool plume of air leaked through the open window.

He was stuffed. The food at basic couldn’t compare, even with the food shortages. Even Mama’s dry, sugarless cake had been welcome. He laid back on his bed, a hand spread over his stomach, the other folded behind his head. He couldn’t focus to read, not with Morrison on the floor a few feet away. He slept very still, and breathed very quietly. If Gabriel concentrated, it was like Morrison wasn’t there at all.

Gabriel had almost been lured to sleep, his mind blank and at peace, the whole of his body settled, when the clock struck midnight and a chorus of girl’s voices screeched like barn owls. “Happy birthday, Bianca!”

Morrison bolted awake, like Dracula springing from his coffin, eyes snapped wide. He didn’t breathe for a long moment. Gabriel kept still and quiet, trying not to stare.

“Hey,” he called out, “Breathe.”

Morrison’s head snapped around, and a rush of air puffed past his lips. Slowly, he blinked away the late hour. Then, he flopped back onto the mat with a soft _plunk_ and dragged his hands down his face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Morrison stared at the ceiling. “Talk about what?” There was weakness in his voice, except Gabriel didn’t know him well enough to put the pieces together. Morrison’s soft breathing wasn’t so soft anymore. He wasn’t _quiet_ anymore. Ragged breaths were dragged in by his heaving chest. Little beads of sweat danced on Morrison’s forehead. He was ghost white in the dark.

Gabriel rolled onto his stomach with an arm folded under his head. His throat went dry. The rest of the world seemed to have fallen away. No singing cicadas. No wind. No screaming fourteen-year-olds.

The stillness of night often brought out secrets, but Morrison remained still, glassy eyes focused on the walls. Everybody hid something. Gabriel was no different. Maybe it was just his curiosity, but Gabriel wanted to press. He wanted to know. His stomach twisted into a knot and he swallowed the instinct to chase. Some things were better left alone.

He’d just rolled over to face the wall when Morrison’s voice broke the quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah,” Gabriel mumbled.

Quiet again for a long moment.

By slow degrees the weight of the hour began to lift, until Gabriel was no longer mindful of himself, and Morrison’s breathing returned to its normal, near-silent whisper. He’d almost fallen asleep—again—when his bed rumbled. For a moment, Gabriel thought it was the byproduct of Uncle Jose’s impressive snoring, but there wasn’t a sound like chainsaws. Realization kicked in when the glass in the window shuddered and began to shake.

“Jack!” He barked, “Get up!”

Morrison bolted upright at the sound of his voice and scrambled out from under the sleeping bag. Gabriel not-so-gently shoved Morrison under the little desk in his room, just in time to avoid a cascade of books that tumbled off the shelf. The closet doors rattled. Morrison was too big to fit under the desk, and so was Gabriel, but it was the only furniture in the room that could cover their heads if the window broke.

The earthquake rumbled the house for what felt like ages, but the glass didn’t break, and nothing else fell but dust and bits of plaster from the ceiling. When it finally settled, Gabriel became hyper aware of his hands on Morrison’s shoulders.

“I have to—” Frankie. He had to see if she was okay. Gabriel bolted out from under the desk, hopefully before Morrison had caught the flush of his skin. When he opened the door, she was waiting for him, with streaks of tears on her cheeks.

He scooped her up as Bianca and her friends came down the hall, laughing like they were drunk. “It worked!” Bianca yelled, hands raised above her head, “We summoned an earthquake!”

“Why would you do that!” Frankie sobbed. “Bianca, earthquakes _kill_ people!”

“I don’t have the energy for you right now,” he growled before slamming the door in Bianca’s face. Morrison crawled out from under the desk and worked a hand through his scruffy hair. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Can she really do that?” Frankie worked at her tear stained cheeks with a rolled-up fist.

“Of course not. Earthquakes are caused by—”

He lifted an eyebrow and waited for his kid sister to catch on. “The earth’s plates move and shift around all the time and sometimes they grind and that causes earthquakes. That’s also how volcanoes are made.”

“And we get a lot of them because—”

“We live in a fault zone.” Frankie turned to Morrison, who was watching with slightly narrowed eyes and a scrunched-up mouth. “That means increased seys—ses—seismic activity.”

“Get any earthquakes in Indiana?”

He shook his head no, and said, “Tornadoes.”

"That sounds scary," Frankie gasped. "I saw this movie one time..."

It had been difficult to relax after that—Gabriel kept expecting the house to start shaking again—but it was easier with the drone of Morrison's voice as he regaled Frankie with an over-the-top story about how he'd been stuck at his grandfather's farm, and how it wasn't safe to walk back to the house so they'd slept in the hay with the cows and sheep. It was the first time he'd ever really mentioned his family.


	6. Chapter 6

They strung up blue and yellow lights in the yard, and as soon as night fell the garden was beautiful. Bianca shined in the dress their aunt had made her. Inhibitions were lightened by a little bit of alcohol and the spirit of the party. Friends and neighbors had brought enough food to feed everyone back at the temp base. Music soared up into the clear, star-filled sky. He ate and danced and laughed until his whole body rang with joy. The war seemed distant, like a dream. The whole world was narrowed to the garden.

Gabriel pulled himself away from a dance with Cara to sneak a beer from the fridge. Paloma and Ariana had the same idea, and cornered him in the kitchen. They assaulted him for details about basic, and Gabriel mumbled answers through a mouthful of food. Paloma scolded him for that.

Frankie's bright laughter echoed through the living room. She was on Morrison's shoulders, hands held high above her head. His friend—it felt right to think of him that way, now—wore a bright, toothy grin.

Paloma plucked Frankie from Morrison's shoulders, whispered, "Almost time for bed, querido." and whisked her away despite her protest. Morrison lingered in the kitchen, one hand working away at the back of his neck. Ariana tipped her head at him, eyes narrowed, and slipped out of sight.

"How're your feet?" He asked. Morrison had been too polite to refuse all of Frankie's invitations to dance—of which there'd been many—and Gabriel knew all too well that Frankie was a stomper. He thought maybe she did it on purpose.

"Fine," Morrison sighed.

"Hey—Jack—" The name felt weird on his tongue. "—Thanks."

"For what?"

There was a lot that Gabriel wanted to say—thanks for entertaining my kid sister, she gets so lonely now that Bianca's a teenager, thanks for being here with me—but all he could manage was an uneasy smile. Morrison's eyes were so blue, so clear. They didn't look like glass to him anymore.

Maybe it was the night, maybe it was the alcohol. He felt warm, but not comfortable. Far from it.

He'd just thought of what to say— _thanks for seeing me_ —when Frankie came down the stairs like a bat out of hell, Paloma hot on her heels, wielding his father's old camera. "You're leaving in the morning," she cried, "And I have to take pictures so I can scrapbook!"

"You could just wake up early," Gabriel protested. The broken silence settled his stomach and, hopefully, his flushed skin.

Frankie wouldn't have it. She climbed up Morrison's arm and hooked one sharp elbow around his neck. "Cheese!"

One picture wasn't enough. As soon as he managed to wiggle free and made a break for the garden, she followed, Paloma muttering under her breath in Spanish.

The night was still young, and Gabriel needed a distraction. Bianca caught his eye and beckoned him over. He blessed his pigheaded sister and allowed himself to be pulled into her tight circle of girls in chiffon.

"Are you gonna ask him to dance or can Marcia?" she asked.

Blunt. That was exactly like her. "What?"

"Jack," she whined, "Are you listening to me? Are you gonna get mad if she asks him to dance?"

His head felt like scrambled eggs. "Why would I be mad?"

Bianca rolled her eyes. It was like she'd practiced looking bored and annoyed at the same time. "I thought that was why you brought him—"

He spoke without thinking. "He's not really my type."

Marcia had a smile like a scorpion. She sauntered past with a flick of her hair.

Bianca pulled him away from her friends and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I wanted to tell you, but mama reads the letters we send. I met someone."

"What, you going to elope?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Bianca punched him on the arm. Hard. Turned out military training couldn't take the sting out of her fists. "He said he couldn't come tonight. His grandfather's really sick. But I really wanted him to meet Mama and Papi." Bianca fell silent for a rare moment. "And you."

"Sounds like an excuse."

Bianca pursed her mouth. "Maybe. I bet his grandfather's not even sick."

"You're getting it. He should want to meet us. There's probably a reason why he's scared to. I don't know the guy well enough to ask."

Bianca twirled a strand of her perfectly curled hair around a finger. "Geez, listen to me," she mumbled, "My big brother's going off to war and I'm worried about a boy." After a moment of silence, Bianca puffed out a breath, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hands. “I’m gonna enlist when I’m eighteen, if you don’t stop the war before that,” she sighed. “Think you can?”

“We’ll see.”

They sat down and talked for what felt like hours but was only minutes. Bianca usually strayed away from the heavy topics, but the night had changed her mood, and she looked morose and miserable beside him. One could smile through a war for so long. Bianca was stronger than most. He didn't feel so strong, though, when he looked up and saw Marcia with her arms around Morrison's neck, her mouth open in a laugh.

Gabriel didn’t have time to dwell on it. The earth rumbled under their feet, and the music was shut off. No one was risking another earthquake.

-

That night, the late hour burned his nerves. He laid awake, searching the cracked ceiling for answers, his mouth dry but his heart beating fast. Morrison had to be asleep, he was so quiet. Uncle Jose's snoring was a distant nightmare. The girls camped out in Bianca's room let out faint laughter. So long after curfew the street was silent.

In the morning he'd have to leave, and in another week, Morrison would be gone, too.

Gabriel turned over on his side. He'd never asked. Somehow, it made it easier. Sure, he'd have Tatiana and Poppy and the crew in echo barracks—but at some point Morrison had become a friend.

"I heard a rumor," he said. His throat was dry and his voice had cracked. Gabriel’s stomach tightened and his skin flushed with embarrassment. He sounded like he was gonna cry. "That you got the green light and you're on your way out two weeks early."

Silence. Gabriel wondered if Morrison was asleep. He shifted, and found himself staring into Morrison's strange eyes. They seemed like pools of mercury in the weird light. "Yeah," he said softly, "They're moving me to a division in Nevada."

"Any idea what it is?"

Morrison's head rocked back and forth. "No."

"You won't even get to graduate with us."

War time meant change. Out of hundreds on base, dozens disappeared at a time. Some had started earlier than him. Some dropped out. Some got transfered to active divisions.

In a few weeks, Morrison might be out in the desert, bleeding out in the sand.

"What are you gonna do when you get out?" He asked the question to distract himself. It was common enough in camp, a simple way of getting to know each other. Tatiana wanted—actually _wanted_ —to be an accountant. Poppy had plans to climb the military ladder and then retire to a cabin in Northern California. He'd heard some ridiculous fantasies. They'd need them the second they stepped into a war zone.

"Out." Morrison said the word flatly.

"Yeah."

Morrison was quiet. Gabriel figured he wouldn't get an answer. He was right. He got a question.

"Do you think there _is_ an out?"

Gabriel's stomach turned. Lots of pessimists called the temp base home, but even _they_ seemed cheerier talking about the possibility of death. It was hard to think about never coming home again. After graduation, he might not see his family for years. But he never thought about dying.

"I don't know," he sighed. "Is this what you always wanted to do?"

"What, fight?"

"You said you went to military school." Gabriel knew that he had to chase the question or he'd never get half an answer. His stomach roiled. Somehow he felt like his whole house was on the deck of a ship manhandled by the ocean. "What'd you do to get sent there?"

Morrison went quiet and still. His skin was streaked with white bands of light that filtered in through the window. He looked older, like his blond hair was gray, the shadows forming wrinkles under his eyes.

"You've thought about it," Morrison said, "So—what are you going to do when your service is over?"

He had skirted around the question. Gabriel dropped it. Whatever it was, Morrison didn't need to dig it up again.

"College," he said, "Play basketball. Get a car. Someday, a house. Right here. There's one down the street that I used to ride past every day. No one lives there right now. Bomb fell through the roof six months ago. I'd like to fix it up. Then—" he paused. Morrison's eyes were narrowed slightly, and his mouth was bunched up at the corner. Gabriel wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel embarrassed. "—I want to go to Mexico. I've never been. Maybe it's boring. I want to get up everyday in my own house and have coffee on the porch."

Simple was the word. _Normal_.

"That's—" Morrison's voice caught on the edge of the word. Gabriel rolled onto his stomach and folded his arms under his head, patient for his friend to work through whatever it was he wanted to say. The silence was comfortable, somehow.

He might have finished his sentence, but Gabriel never knew. He fell asleep in the quiet, ill-prepared for the morning when he'd have to say goodbye.

-

The second Gabriel set foot back on the temp base, all illusions that his childhood home was the center of the universe lifted, and he settled back into the rhythm of his new life. Tatiana and Poppy both had stories to share, and they bonded in the mess hall. He didn’t see Morrison for three days. Tatiana said she hadn’t, either.

Strange, but he didn’t have much time to think about it. The days of basic were winding down fast. In a blink he’d be out in the field, and he had no way of telling if he was even remotely prepared. Some of the others had started up again with the big-talk that had waned during the trying parts of basic. Gabriel lacked the energy to participate, and snuck away one evening to try his luck with the chunk of Omnic recon droid that had been strung up in the gallery. The sky over the ocean was a solid gray mass that day, threatening rain. Strange weather for California.

He'd gotten the hang of pulling the rifle apart and piecing it back together, but his aim still needed work, and he struggled through the steps. The same asshole who'd accused him of fighting the first week had caught onto Gabriel's poor marksmanship, and he'd been forced to cut into his mess time to catch up. With him breathing down his back, Gabriel could never focus past his anger. It was easier when he was alone, when the shooting gallery was dark and quiet.

Flick off the safety, set the sights, breathe, pull. Plasma pinged against the floor, against the wall, against the recon droid's long, thin appendages.

He just needed to practice.

The door to the gallery slammed open and Morrison tumbled inside, hit the wall with his shoulder, hissed, and landed a kick against the same wall who'd dared to assault him. Gabriel blinked away his surprise. Morrison hadn't yet noticed him. He was coiled up, his teeth bared and jaw set, like he was on the attack.

Gabriel shuffled his feet to announce his presence, and Morrison's head snapped up at the sound. The fight seemed to drain from him almost immediately. "Oh. Reyes."

"Something bothering you?"

 _Someone_ was probably what he should have said. Too many kids on base meant that there was no shortage of teasing that got out of hand more often than it settled. That kind of crap got people killed on the field.

Morrison dragged his strange, blue eyes to the tables. His shoulder lacked a rifle. "I just wanted to be alone."

"I'll leave," Gabriel offered. He was already halfway to the door when Morrison held up a hand and shook his head.

"It's fine." Everything in Farm Boy's stance said the exact opposite.

Paper crinkled. Morrison's fist was curled around what was probably a letter. White knuckles.

He could read between the lines, but something in the back of his head said _don't ask, don't chase it_. So Gabriel rolled his shoulders, offered a smile, and said, "Burn it."

"What?"

Miguel's lighter had made a home in his pocket. He pulled it out and flicked a small, orange flame into existence. "I had a teacher in my sophomore year who I swear had it out for me. Mr. Caine." Gabriel watched the flame dance. It reflected in Morrison's strange, silvery eyes. "I had top grades in the rest of my classes and he was dragging down my average. I know it shouldn't have mattered in sophomore year, but—" Gabriel was getting off track. He coughed to clear his throat. "I'd get my essays back covered in red. Big 'C-minus' on the front. Thing is I knew that they were great. So I got angry about it. I let it get to me. I thought it would keep me out of the running for the Ivy Leagues. Not that I could have afforded it. Doesn't matter. Point is, I kept those essays. I read them over and over again trying to figure out what it was he wanted. What I was doing wrong. I was out of my head about it." He snapped the lid back on the lighter and tossed it to Morrison. "So, I burned them. Only way to stop thinking about it."

Morrison held the lighter in his palm and went still.

"Hey, Jack," Gabriel said, "I know it's not my business, but _fuck 'em_.”

He made a guess that it was from his parents. Morrison’s mouth scrunched up like he tasted something sour. Then, with a roll of his wrist, he snapped the lighter and unfurled the letter. It was a single sheet, handwritten, though Gabriel couldn’t make out what it said. It looked better in orange, then black, and then in a pile of ashes on the floor of the gallery.

“You see?”

“Mind if I borrow your rifle?”

“If it helps.”

The sharp _tick, tick, tick_ of pulse munitions lulled Gabriel into a languid state. It was easy to watch his perfect shots, pulse munitions sinking into the recon’s hull. Morrison’s squared soldiers barely moved with the kickback, but he could see the twitch of muscles in his arm with every squeeze of the trigger.

The concrete below his feet tremored and the walls shivered, so slightly Gabriel would not have noticed if he was still firing. The tin roof began to rattle. Rain again?

He didn't have time to think before the ceiling caved in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

Gabriel woke with his face plastered against the floor. His tongue was heavy with the metallic tang of blood. Thick smoke rolled in with every breath he took, and he coughed out plumes of black. Hot metal pressed against his body. A long, narrow strip of tin was easily thrown off his back.

Lifting his head made him dizzy. Gabriel clapped a hand over his mouth and tried to focus past the noise—a constant drone, like an air conditioning unit—to calm his overwhelmed mind.

He was in the gallery. There was a circular hole in the roof, like a massive creature had taken a bite of the building. A crater—there was no other word—had formed in the floor. The gallery tables were blazing orange, the source of the choking smoke. Under splintered, smoking wood was a man's body. A vomit-green set of fatigues covered with ash and smears of blood.

_Jack._

Instinct kicked him in the gut—about as subtle as a rubber mallet to the skull—and he moved, throwing planks of wood that burned his hands off Morrison's stilled body. He tried to yell, but a mouthful of choking ash rendered him mute. Gabriel forked arms under Morrison's body, prayed that he was alive, and dragged both of their asses out of the ruined gallery.

Outside was no better. Snow fell from the hard, gray sky. Except it wasn't snow. Ash settled against Morrison's chest. There—barely detectable—he was breathing.

Alive.

Blood trickled from Morrison's nose past his split lip. Deep bruises set under his eyes and under his jaw. Gabriel slapped a hand against his cheek and Morrison's eyes snapped open, glassy and unfocused.

"Get up," Gabriel ordered, "We have to move!"

He hadn't been able to think farther ahead than that— _move_ —even as a streak of black cut through the clouds and roared overhead. A spot of silver dropped on Kilo Barracks. A second later, the barracks blew apart, and screams lifted with clouds of smoke.

Gabriel moved with Morrison under his arm, blind to the systematic destruction of barracks Lima through Tango, deaf to the screams of confusion and the rattle of gattling guns. Black shapes—Omnic recon droids—glided through the air, louder than he remembered, raining hell down over their heads.

He ran for the only cover he could think of—the alley between his barracks and the highway divisor—and dropped Morrison onto the ground there. Free of the smoke, he drew in gulps of air. "Hey," he gasped, "Talk to me. You okay?"

Morrison's mouth fell open. His teeth were stained with blood. "What—what—"

"Can you see okay? Your head hurt?" Gabriel pressed a hand to the side of Morrison's skull. No deep cuts or lacerations under his scruffy hair. "Tell me you understand me. How many fingers am I holding up?"

He made a rude gesture. Morrison's eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, too," he mumbled.

"You're okay. You're gonna be okay." Gabriel craned his neck around the corner of the barracks. Fire and smoke obscured the wide grounds of the temp base. Debris and bodies laid on the asphalt. Taken out of the fight too soon. The anti-aircraft guns rattled away on the perimeter.

"You're bleeding." Morrison's hand grazed against his jaw. Gabriel stilled under the touch.

"I'll be fine. Jack—"

Morrison pulled his hand away. His pale skin was red. His head lolled on his shoulders as a breath rattled his body.

"Hey, Jack. Listen to me."

He grabbed Morrison's shoulders to steady him, but he wouldn't look him in the eye. His strange, glassy eyes stayed stuck on the sky. Gabriel wasn't brave enough to look up. He knew that it would be swarming with recon droids.

Fuck.

"Jack. Can you stand on your own?" He worked a hand under Morrison’s arm and tried to push him to move, but he remained still, eyes caught on the sky. “Jack, listen to me. Stand up.”

“It’s gone,” Morrison mumbled. “We’re dead—we’re dead—”

Gabriel felt the incoming projectile more than he heard it. The explosive sang like a bird as it fell from the sky and landed in the dirt between the barracks and the retaining wall. He didn’t have time to think. He threw his body over Morrison’s, grinding his face against concrete. Rocks pelleted against his back and something long and sharp grazed his shin.

Morrison, tucked underneath him, wouldn’t shut up. “We’re dead—you’re bleeding—”

“I know.” Gabriel rolled off Morrison and pulled him up by his elbows, probably too roughly. “Wait—you still have my gun?”

The rifle hung over Morrison’s shoulder. It had never looked more beautiful.

Gabriel coaxed it from Morrison with a lot of words and checked the clip. Full. How had he gotten so lucky? “We’re gonna get out of this,” he said, “We’re gonna live through this, Jack. Stick with me, okay? Don’t leave my sight.”

Morrison nodded his head, eyes dumbstruck. Gabriel hooked the strap over his neck and clicked off the safety.

The mess hall seemed like it was a hundred clicks away. Bodies, smoke, fire. He couldn’t see anything else.

They had to live. He had to see his family again.

“Get down!”

Gabriel shoved Morrison down and lifted the rifle to his shoulder as a recon droid swooped low overhead. He pressed the trigger and shot plasma into the sky. The machine whirled away and blinked out of sight into the smoke.

He was a dozen meters away when he realized with a pang that Morrison hadn’t followed him. In the distance, past the smoke, he caught four hulking shapes.

Bastion units.

“Jack!”

He sprinted for shelter and lost his footing. For a moment he was suspended in air—another explosion—and the ground rushed up far too fast. He hit hard and rolled. Pain flared in his shoulder, tearing a scream from his throat.

Strange, glassy blue eyes locked on him. Blood and ash was smeared across Morrison’s face. Horror, anguish, _desperation_ —he felt all of like he would never feel anything again. The temp base was in ruins. The damn Omnicshad dropped in on their heads without warning and without mercy. Morrison was right. They were dead.

“Jack,” he hissed, “Please—”

Morrison bolted from his cover and fell to Gabriel’s side. “What do I do?” His voice broke. “Reyes, what do I do?”

“Help me up.”

An arm swept under his back, and he was lifted so he could sit. Gabriel grunted as a wave of pain rolled through his shoulder. He pressed the rifle to his shoulder despite his body’s protests, set the sights at the edge of the building, where he could see a glimmer of metal, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil hurt worse than his fall had. Gabriel barely managed to clamp down on the scream.

Think. Think. _Think_. Not about the gun. Not about the war that had dropped on their heads. About family. Frankie’s big smile. Mama’s laughter. Even Uncle Jose’s snoring.

Gabriel grit his teeth and kept pulling the trigger, grunting with the recoil, missing _every goddamn shot_.

“Jack,” he gasped, “Take it.”

He swept the strap off his shoulder and pressed the rifle into Morrison’s unwilling hands. Strange, glassy eyes widened and sharpened with shock. “I—I—” White-knuckled hands curled around the gun. He fell to his stomach, propped up on his arms, and aligned the gun down the alley.

“I’ll call your shots,” Gabriel said, “I’ve got your back, Jack. Just listen to me. Remember what we talked about?”

“Talked about,” Morrison repeated stiffly.

Jack Morrison was goddamn mess. Maybe he’d hit his head, maybe he’d inhaled too much smoke, maybe he was panicked. Didn’t matter. Gabriel wanted to swear, to scream, anything. Stuck in a life-or-death situation with the best on base and he was useless.

“What you’re gonna do when you’re out,” Gabriel said. “Remember? What’re you gonna do when we get out of this?”

Morrison’s response cut through Gabriel to the quick. “This is it.” His voice trembled and caught on the words. “This is what I saw.”

“No way, Jack. You’re not dying on me. I need you, understand?” Gabriel reached for the rifle and worked it a few degrees to the left. “Listen to me, Jack. Maybe no one else cares but I do, okay? Remember what you told me?”

Morrison’s eyes had never seemed so blue. Maybe it was the contrast against the blood that seeped down his brow, maybe it was the reflection of the fires that consumed the barracks. Gabriel’s stomach churned. They didn’t have any other options.

“Remember?” Gabriel set a hand against Morrison’s back. “Don’t think. Just look. Inhale. Pull the trigger between breaths.”

Morrison’s finger twitched on the trigger. Slowly, a focus came to his eyes, his brow drew, and his mouth scrunched up at the corner.

“I’ve got you, Jack,” Gabriel said, “I’ve got you.”

Jack Morrison pulled the trigger.

The smoke and ash had consumed everything. It choked his throat and burned his eyes but Gabriel kept talking, no matter how his throat stung, no matter how badly he wanted to cry. _I’ve got you. Left ten degrees. Up above us. Recon at our six._

The rifle swung, fired, moved, fired. A spent clip was ejected and replaced with lightning speed. Morrison’s shoulder flexed under Gabriel’s hand with every pull, with every recoil. _Breathe. Keep breathing. You’ve got this, Jack. I’m counting on you._

He didn’t notice when it started to get quiet. Gabriel’s ears rang from the noise. He was deaf to himself, to Morrison, to the world falling apart around them.

Black. Everything was black, but he was alive, still breathing. Boots scraped against the ground. Blood in his mouth.

“…I’ve got you, Gabriel.”

-

The smell of smoke lingered long after the fires were put out by a fine, misting rain. He laid on his side, one arm clutched around his torso, watching the sky for silver. The gattling guns were silent. The temp base was still and gray. Bodies laid everywhere—hundreds of them—set between hulking Omnic carcasses. His body tipped upright and landed against something warm and firm. Morrison’s shoulder.

“They’re gone.” Morrison’s breath was as slight as the wind that moved ash and dust past the ruined buildings. Dried blood coated his nose, his lip, his forehead. “Help is coming.”

It sounded like a lie. Gabriel sucked in breaths through his nose.

“They’re not gonna come back,” Morrison said. “They’re not gonna come back.”

He wouldn’t shut up. Gabriel groaned and tried to lift his head. His neck ached like he’d dropped something right on his spine The pain traveled down his back and he shivered. The hell had happened? “Jack—”

He wanted Morrison to just _stop talking_. Strange for a guy that had been so deathly quiet before. Morrison kept mumbling under his breath, eyes caught on the burned buildings on the other side of base.

“Listen to me,” Morrison said, “They’re not gonna come back.”

Clarity drove Gabriel’s anger away. Morrison’s words weren’t the ramblings of a panicked recruit—he was trying to convince _him_ that it was fine. That they were going to live.

“You can shut up,” he grunted, “I don’t need to hear it. They killed enough of us and took off.”

Morrison’s expression shifted, and his eyes focused. “There might be other survivors.”

Gabriel doubted that there could be many, but he grunted an affirmative and pushed back against the wall. His legs and nerves shook. The walked across rubble and stepped over bodies. Their fatigues weren’t vomit green anymore, but rusted red and flecked with gray ash. Morrison covered his mouth.

The only barracks left standing was Whiskey, and ‘standing’ was a generous term—the front wall was kicked in, and half the roof laid on the floor. Broken bunks were warped and twisted from the heat of the fire. It was so _quiet_. The misty rain made almost no noise, and Morrison’s breaths and footsteps were so quiet that Gabriel kept glancing over his shoulder to see if he was still there. A pathetic, strained cry rose from the rubble. It sent a shiver up Gabriel’s aching spine.

“Over here,” Gabriel called out to Morrison, “Give me a hand.”

The bunks were still hot and burned his palms. They worked the debris away until something—someone—shifted and moved. Blisters covered their face to the point that Gabriel would never have been able to identify them.

Too late. Morrison crouched by the recruits side and asked for their name.

Blood flooded the recruit's set of fatigues. A thin piece of pipe jutted out from their stomach.

Too late.

Morrison hauled himself away from the still body. A deep, shuddering breath wracked his shoulders. The barracks stank like fire and death. Gabriel led Morrison out and kept him walking. What else could they do?

They searched the rubble for what felt like hours, hands reduced to bloody messes, but there weren’t any survivors.

They were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

The deep, dark Oregon forests below Mt. Hood looked a lot different from five hundred feet and climbing. Fires burned dangerously close to the bank of the Columbia river despite the season, despite the misting rain that drummed against the windows of the helicopter. Through the misty haze the smoke was impossible to separate from the low cloud cover.

Two years in Oregon, and he still couldn't remember the name of the small town they passed over.

The comms buzzed indistinctly in Gabriel’s ears. Not a jamming signal, but a side effect of the weather and the poor infrastructure back at base. He tapped at the link in his ear. No use. They were visual. The pilot banked the helicopter to the right, sweeping down along the banks of the river, headed into enemy territory. Gabriel’s grip tightened on the butt of his rifle. His unit mirrored him, conscious or not. They were beat down and bloodied from a firefight down near an old, long-abandoned state park. No losses on their end. Same couldn’t be said for the Omnics.

Gabriel kept his eyes trained out the window, panting hard to catch his breath. His shoulder ached. It always did when the weather turned sour. Too bad he was stuck in the Pacific Northwest.

“Looks clear,” Banks said from across the aisle, “Fire could have been natural cause. Had that bad storm last night.”

“Could be,” Gabriel agreed. But they didn’t take chances with fires so close to a refugee camp. He could pick it out, just across the Columbia river, a spot of gray under a gray sky. Smoke rolled downwind from the limits of Wind River. Too close for the thousands of refugees who’d massed in the middle of a hot zone, stuck halfway between Portland and Hood River.

The airspace was too hot for an air tanker to move in without clearance. Until he did his job, the residents of the camp had no choice but to evacuate by foot and risk death on the shores of the river, or stay indoors and wait for the United States military to quell the threat.

Lucky for them, he knew _exactly_ how to handle it.

He could pick out glimmers of black metal in the overcast. Friendlies. Omnic recons were dark as thunderheads but nearly silent, at least until they were over your heads.

It was impossible to get a good visual of the area; the low cloud cover and the thick smoke kept them south of the state border, hovering over the dark river. He could almost pick out individual faces down below in the camp.

The comms crackled. “Fisher three, area North of camp clear.”

Their pilot responded with, “Fisher one, south of camp, no sign of activity on Oregon bank.”

Banks leaned toward the window, one hand ready to pull the door open, the other one tapping against the latch on his harness. Beside him, MacKinnon sat with her head down between her knees. She’d always hated flying.

“Fisher five, northeast of camp, report sighting of ground based Omnics.”

“Fisher one to fisher five, report position.”

“Fisher five, we are at five hundred over Berge Creek.”

Showtime. Gabriel worked his shoulder back, rolling sore muscles. He grinned at his unit. “Get ready for the drop,” he said, “Could be recons up in the cloud cover, keep an eye on the sky. MacKinnon, can you get any readings?”

She pulled down her visor and leaned out in front of the window. “Nothing yet, Sergeant.”

“Alright.” Gabriel sat back, closing his eyes for a moment. He could feel the drop in altitude, and the slow roll of bank that pushed him back into his seat. He had twelve soldiers, and there were three choppers in the area. They could handle it on their own on a good morning, but they were already beaten down. He still wasn’t used to sleeping in the forest. “Bring us down.”

The dark green pines bristled below, rippling under the helicopter’s rotors. At his command, Banks pulled the door open, and his unit rappelled out one by one. He landed last, hard on his knees. With a signal to the helicopter, Fisher One turned and banked away from the low plumes of smoke.

It was muscle memory. Gabriel and his unit split up to move through the thick pines. With MacKinnon watching their advance—and the skies—they were safe to proceed west toward the source of the fire. Gunfire was soft somewhere in the distance.

Fisher five was under fire. Gabriel called out for the order for his unit to march, and he led them over uneven terrain, up into the smoking mountains.

Raindrops stung against his skin. The reek of smoke and petrichor drowned out everything else. The mountains were beautiful, otherwise. Tall, dark ridges rose through the gray, etched with pines fresh and green from the spring rain.

Up ahead, MacKinnon halted their march and signaled. _Three Bastion units_. A pause, and then she flipped her hand over. _One Predator unit._

They crouched down in the undergrowth, perfectly silent.

_Moving west, ahead two hundred meters._

There was no way the Omnics hadn't seen the drop. Gabriel moved through the underbrush and hunched down by MacKinnon's shoulder. He could see the spots on her visor.

He signaled fast. _Move out around East. We'll draw fire._

His unit moved, so silent that Gabriel had to check visually that they were following orders.

Practice made the play perfect. Gabriel burst out from cover, boots slapping hard in the mud. It was a one hundred-meter dash before the Predator caught sight of him, and a barrage of machine gun fire— _takka takka takka_ —exploded around him. Gabriel fell behind a rain-slicked boulder. MacKinnon was barely visible in the brush down below, watching their backs.

He could still hear the crackle of the pilots over the noise. "Recons incoming, southeast 125 degrees, two hundred feet, over Oregon side of the river, Fisher One, do you copy?"

"Fisher One copies, targets in sight."

Gabriel pushed himself flat against the ground and crawled through the mud to line his rifle up flat. A few bursts of rounds hit the trees beside the Predator’s massive hull. The red glow of its eyes caught against the thick, choking smoke.

Gunfire. Friendly. The Bastion units let out a unified warning alarm, followed by the beautiful sound of pulse munitions sinking into metal.

He pulled himself up over the rock. The Bastion units laid out in pieces on the forest floor, but the Predator was alive and searching, moving slow through the undergrowth, gattling guns tearing up the trees.

Gabriel aimed for the back of the unit’s head, stopped thinking, and pulled the trigger between breaths.

“Nice shot, Sarge,” MacKinnon chirped over the comms.

“Ground units at Berge Creek eliminated,” Gabriel relayed, “Fisher One, Fisher Five, do you require ground support?”

“Fisher One, the skies are clear. Give your position for pick-up.”

They waited on the dusty, smoke-covered road. The helicopter’s downwash cleared the smoke and hovered above the ground. The pilot gave him a thumbs-up from the cockpit.

Gabriel checked his watch. It wasn’t even 0800 hours and he’d crushed two missions.

The pilot relayed _air space clear_ to the tanker.

Once back on the helicopter, he slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes. The roar of the air tanker was a beautiful sound. MacKinnon, back to her normal self, crouched as low to the floor of the helicopter as she could manage. Always hated flying. Gabriel never minded it much, not when the scenery was this beautiful, at least.

Even with the smoke.

-

It was pouring rain back at the air base. Gabriel couldn’t hear a goddamn thing over the roar of props and jet engines, the ruckus of pilots and engineers and soldiers alike crossing paths, but he started his post-mission talk the second his boots touched the tarmac. They’d done excellent work, and after two weeks in the forest, Gabriel was _desperate_ for a good meal, a hot shower, and a long nap.

“Sergeant Reyes.”

He couldn’t hear his name, but he knew what it looked like on someone’s mouth. A stern, red-haired woman stood out on the rain-slicked ramp without a coat or an umbrella. There was no glimmer of a name tag on her uniform and no indication of rank on her shoulders.

She offered him something like a smile made useless by her stiff stance. “If you’ll follow me.”

MacKinnon nudged him with a shoulder. Gabriel was standing stock still, his exhausted mind too sore to soak up the command right away.

He watched his unit file away, covered in dirt and ash and soaked through by the rain.

She waited for him to turn back to her, and began a quick march across the tarmac. She moved effortlessly around a sea of people, like she’d lived there all her life. Gabriel knew, though, that he’d never seen her on base.

A small turboprop plane waited for them at the far side of the hangar.

She swept up the stairs and beckoned for him to follow.

It was quiet and dull inside. Rain drummed on the roof. The red-haired woman folded down in a seat and pulled glasses from her pocket. “All right, now we can talk. Have a seat, Sergeant Reyes.”

He obeyed. “I’m due to report back—”

“No need. I’ve already spoken with him.” She waved a hand, as if to clear his thoughts. “Now—”

She reached down for a heavy leather briefcase and slipped out a file. He saw his name printed at the top.

“I apologize for the rush, Sergeant Reyes. Three weeks was not enough time.”

“Three weeks?”

“Do you have the letter on your person, Sergeant?”

Letter? Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

“You were sent a letter three weeks ago, informing you of your invitation to SEP.”

Gabriel racked his mind. The last bought of mail had brought a sticker-encrusted letter from Frankie, complete with a hand-written account of her transition to middle school. He had it folded in his pocket. It was probably ruined from the rain. At the very least, the ink would have run.

“I’ve been in the field two weeks,” he said, “I might have missed it.”

“In any case, we can continue.” The woman lowered her glasses with a push of long, slender fingers and stared hard at the file between her hands. “You have been selected, Sergeant Reyes. The Soldier Enhancement Program is—”

“Wait. I’m being transferred?” Gabriel lifted his head from his thoughts.

She continued like he hadn’t spoken. “—an answer to a difficult problem. Our great country has been the birthplace of innovation and has led the world in scientific endeavors for centuries. This is your call to action, Sergeant Reyes.”

His throat was dry, like he was still breathing smoke. “My unit is waiting for a debrief,” he said numbly.

“I had the pleasure of reading over your records.” She sat back, lifting her glasses up into her thick, red hair. “Your mission reports are excellent. Excellent leadership potential.”

 _Potential._ Like he wasn’t already climbing the ranks.

“You have quite the story, Sergeant. You’ll be a great fit for our program.”

“Ma’am—” he didn’t know what to call her, and she didn’t offer a name. He coughed to clear his throat. “—This is—”

“Sudden, yes,” she said. “Your things are on board. The trip to our facility will only take a few hours. But before we take off, there’s the matter of paperwork.”

She pulled more papers from her briefcase.

“Standard non-disclosure agreement,” she said, “You can sign it now. It will give me time to answer any questions you may have.”

Gabriel took the paper. There was a big, gaudy seal at the top. Atlas held up the weight of the world under an eagle’s outstretched wings. Gross, old-school Americana.

She handed him a pen and smiled in a thin, professional way.

She wasn’t a soldier.

The text on the page was so small and so tightly packed that it looked like a solid wall of ink. He scrawled his name and handed both back.

The plane moved. Gabriel scrambled for purchase. “Hey, wait—”

“Your things are in the storage compartment,” she said, “You can relax, Sergeant.”

-

Gabriel’s heart wouldn’t slow. It was tough to keep track of time. He was given stacks of documents that said a lot without saying anything at all. They were purposefully vague, a lawyer’s dream come true.

His head spun with sentences that curved around on themselves, eating their tails.

Time was an illusion. The plane rocked with turbulence. He couldn’t see anything through the thick clouds. He felt like they were moving East, over the mountains. Maybe to Colorado.

He felt in his pocket for Frankie’s letter and pulled it out. It had half dried, but he was right—the ink had bled, leaving the text unintelligible.

Pressure shifted. He felt it in his ears. Descending. How long had it been? Three hours? The red-haired woman was busy with paperwork of her own. Gabriel was halfway through his and still had no idea _what_ SEP was, only that there would be a medical examination upon arrival, and a mental assessment to go with it.

He was half-asleep when they landed.

An unmarked van waited for them on the tarmac. He caught a glimpse of tall, dark mountains before he was ferried onto the van. His bag hit the floor and the doors were shut, locking him in with the woman and her heavy briefcase.

He wanted to talk, but he couldn’t get his tongue to work. Frankly, he was exhausted. Almost too tired to think about his unit back in Oregon. Half of him was convinced he was still sitting on the helicopter over the Columbia river, waiting for the drop.

“We’ll arrive soon,” she said. Lifting a slender wrist, she smiled. “Just in time for evening mess, looks like.”

 _Food_. Gabriel had been too absorbed to realize that he was hungry. The last thing he’d eaten was at 0600h that morning. Crap instant coffee and rations that were barely suitable for human consumption.

“Where’d you go to law school?” he asked.

The woman jerked upright, her smile gone in an instant. By slow degrees she defrosted, shoulders slumping. “Cornell,” she said, “Haven’t finished yet. Wars tend to put plans on hold.” She leaned back against her seat, hands folded in her lap.

The van shuddered to a stop. She was up and out of her seat in a second to open the door.

A ridge of mountains rose behind a low concrete complex bordered by trees and a 3-meter fence. Plain, unadorned, like a prison camp. A summer breeze wafted past, ruffling his short hair. Everything was green and alive, but it couldn’t compare to the beauty of Oregon.

They passed through a gate in the wall and then over a short span of grounds. A few people were out on the football-field sized track. The endless blue sky disappeared when they stepped inside, and the warmth was sucked right out of him.

Perfectly clean. Gray walls, white floors, blue-tinted overhead lights. No furniture. No staff.

“This way,” she called, “You’ll have your first medical assignment in the morning. One of the techs will fetch you, no need to worry. Your room is on the second floor. Just take the elevator and find room 13. There’s a uniform and personal care items inside. Everything you’ll need. Should you require anything else, you can ask me.” She offered a weak smile. “I’m sure you’re starving, Sergeant.”

The mess hall was big enough for a few hundred people, but of the dozens of tables only two were full. Half in comfortable-looking sweatpants and t-shirts, half in stiff white labcoats.

“What does this unit _do_ , exactly?”

No answer. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. She was gone.

His stomach growled. Gabriel edged past the table. Eyes lifted to stare at him. He probably looked terribly out of place, still in uniform, caked in ash and mud.

The sight of the cafeteria cleared those thoughts from his head. The warm smell of coffee— _real coffee_ —hit him like a brick to the face. There was a feast of food to pick from, and Gabriel greedily filled his tray.

He plopped down at an empty table, ignoring the eyes still trying to piece him together.

Even if it was just a dream, he was going to enjoy it.

He was halfway through a bowl of some kind of Italian pasta when a woman with a wide, unnerving smile dropped onto the bench across from him.

“Hey,” she grunted, “Name’s Olsen.” She gestured to the name stitched into her sweater. Warm brown eyes looked him up and down. “What circle of hell did _you_ crawl out of?”

Gabriel chewed slowly on his food.

“You stink.” She leaned back a little, fingers drumming on the metal table. “I can picture it now. Texas front, last of your unit, picked up like a prize from a claw machine and carted off to good ol’ SEP. Am I wrong?”

“Completely.”

“Hmph. You look young. Though it’s hard to tell with all the dirt.” Without regard for personal space or professional boundaries she leaned across the table, working at his face with the sleeve of her sweater. “There, that’s better.” Satisfied, she leaned back, arms crossed. “I’m from Texas. Joined when I was eighteen through ROTP. You wanna know what I did to get selected? My unit was behind enemy lines. Omnic recons rushed us and strafed the shit out of my guys. Half of them dead and the rest injured. Myself included.” Olsen rolled up her sleeve. Warm brown skin ended above her elbow, where white plastic and shiny chrome began. “Wanna know how tough it is to shoot down a recon one-handed? Damn tough. Made it work. Ordered my second-in-command to saw my arm off before it got infected. We were trapped behind the line for a week after that.”

She chewed on her lip, still smirking, a spark in her eye.

“So.” She drew out the syllable, painfully slow, like a dentist pulling teeth. “What’d you do to earn your spot?”

“Didn’t realize it was a competition,” he grunted.

She sat back, grinning. “I like to let people know how it is. What to expect.”

The clatter of a third tray cleared his thoughts. A huge, hulking man who had to be well past thirty dropped onto the bench and grunted something that sounded like ‘hey’. He had the worst sunburn Gabriel had ever seen. His whole body was red except for the skin around his eyes, which was blindingly pale. “Carson.”

“Reyes.”

Carson decided that Gabriel was a friend and slapped a big hand down on his shoulder so hard it rattled his spine and made his already sore shoulder spark with fresh pain.

“You two, uh, been here long?”

The man had a laugh that was deep and dark but jovial, somehow. “Got dropped off last night.”

Olsen draped herself across the table, chin propped up on her prosthetic arm. “Didn’t catch word? SEP’s new. Cutting edge shit. I got here last week with the first round.” She spoke to Carson more than to him, with half the attitude. “They gave us numbers. Can you believe that? I’m number one, baby.”

He focused on eating.

Olsen lifted a hand to flag down two recruits, both wearing the big, heather-gray sweaters with the ugly logo on them. “You two, over here.”

The food was really, really good. Good enough that it was easy to ignore the feeling in his gut that it wasn’t a dream.

They were young. Probably younger than him. They edged close to the table, hovering under Olsen’s gaze.

“Name’s Olsen,” she said.

Olsen repeated her story. The newcomers sat down slowly, mesmerized by her account. She peppered in more details, apparently delighted that they were _listening_ at all.

The woman— _Kowalski_ , her sweater read—was tall and slim, with hazel eyes and dark red hair cut to her shoulders. Her skin was covered in freckles, which swiftly earned her the nickname from Olsen. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she couldn’t have been twenty.

The guy, on the other hand, was small and wiry with big gray eyes that watched everyone at the table like he was waiting for a fight to break out. _Lewis_.

He zoned out of the conversation, attention dragged to the windows. The sun was fading behind the tall slope of mountains.

Oregon was another world away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

The sunrise was beautiful over the mountains. Under the warm orange light, freshly showered and in clean-smelling clothes, Gabriel felt more like himself.

More of the metal tables were full. More staff, more recruits, all in white and navy blue and heather gray. The pullover sweater was the most comfortable thing he’d been able to wear as a uniform in _years_.

He tried not to think about MacKinnon, Banks, and the rest of his unit back in Oregon. Maybe they’d pick her to lead. Best choice out of the lot, and she deserved it. But thinking about them didn’t get him anywhere. No one had assigned him to a unit yet. Bad enough that they were numbered.

After breakfast came morning training. It was supervised by a team of physical therapists and watched by a trio in white coats who looked like they didn’t know what half of the equipment did. Gabriel worked up a sweat on the treadmill, nodding along to their advice, while watching two inductees spar on the mat with a circle crowded around them.

Endorphins cleared his mind, and he didn’t think about Olsen’s comment— _they gave us numbers_ —until he was sitting on a cold exam table in nothing but his underwear, self-conscious under the scrutiny of a med tech and a doctor so pale and white-haired that he could practically smell death on him.

“Subject thirteen—Gabriel Reyes.” Apparently rank and manners didn’t matter to the doctor. Gabriel could feel a hot flush creep up his neck. Never liked doctors much, and especially never liked needles, inspections, and injections. Still, he kept his expression artfully neutral, professional.

“Quite an interesting history you have here.” The doctor worked a bone-thin finger over a file. “Excellent academic record. I’m a UCLA alumni, myself, actually. Nice to meet someone else from the city.” He smiled wanly, pale eyes glinting under the weird florescent lights. “You appear to be in prime physical condition. No family medical history to worry about, ah—” he flipped through the file, rustling paper. “—no allergies, no sexually transmitted diseases, no immune problems. Any issues with your shoulder?”

He shrugged loosely. “Doesn’t bother me much.” It was a lie, and probably not a good one. It was sore and stiff on cold mornings, and tended to hurt when it rained. Right now, it throbbed with a dull ache, thanks to the two-week mission he’d just finished back in Oregon.

The med tech leaned in close, eyes narrowed, her hand warm against his bare skin.

“You’ll be an excellent fit for our program, I believe. I am Dr. Hale. My assistant and I will be guiding you through your transition here. Should you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer. But first, the assessment. Try to relax, Mr. Reyes.”

Strange hands worked over his skin, tested his muscles, moved his joints. Gabriel pointedly stared at the window, at the distant ridge of mountains, as Dr. Hale made small talk through the exam. The med tech took blood and disappeared with a vial of it.

“Very good, Mr. Reyes,” Dr. Hale mumbled, “Very good.”

He felt better once he was dressed. The door opened, and the red-haired woman peered in. “With me,” she said.

He followed her down more winding halls. They looked warmer in the morning light, though, and Gabriel felt some of his anxiety lift. He pushed his hands into his pockets, eyes searching the building for any spots of personality. The whole place was scrubbed clean. Shiny and new, like it had popped up overnight.

“You got a name?” he asked.

She didn’t slow, or even so much as glance back at him. “ Olivia Deschamps. I’m Coordinator Castillo’s assistant.”

He had no idea who the coordinator was. “Where’s the brass?”

She stopped at a door marked ‘admin’. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Reyes.”

She didn’t offer anything else, just opened the door and waited for him to step through it.

A curved glass desk caught the morning light and bent it into waves of yellow and orange. A man with cropped hair and a full beard sat behind the desk, hands folded beside stacks of folders at least a hundred thick. The shelves in the office were bare and empty. The frames on the walls were empty, too, like he hadn’t had enough time to move in.

“Sit,” Deschamps said.

Gabriel fell into the chair offered to him. Awkward silence followed. Gabriel wasn’t shy—not exactly—but he felt like it when his mind went blank for what to say.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the man began to talk in a dull monotone. “Mr. Reyes, on behalf of the United States Government, I would like to formally welcome you to the Soldier Enhancement Program. Dr. Hale has just forwarded your medical assessment, and everything checks out. We are obligated to tell you, however, that every soldier will react differently to our tests and procedures. Should you experience any difficulties, you will report to your doctor or their assistant immediately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Gabriel searched for a placard on the man’s desk. He had the distinct feeling that this wasn’t Coordinator Castillo, though, but someone matching rank with Deschamps.

“I must make our stance very clear.” The man cleared his throat. “You are taking on great personal risk for the benefit of the people. Do you accept that risk?”

Gabriel felt like he was making an oath. With a dry throat, he managed, “Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Just a few more things to sign. I’m sure you’re used to it, now.”

Papers and a pen were offered to him.

Gabriel’s mind reeled. “You’re a lawyer, too?”

“Please, Mr. Reyes, we have limited time. The rest of our group lands today. Lots of introductions to make.”

Lots of lives to sign away. Gabriel sighed. When had he become so cynical? “Of course.”

He loosely scrawled his name.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes.” Deschamps crossed the room to the desk, sweeping the paper away from the lawyer’s reach. “I’ll take you to Dr. Ashhad, now.”

He nodded subtly, his head churning with thoughts he couldn’t vocalize.

-

Gabriel had better luck dealing with the psychiatrist, but he was still exhausted by the time lunch was called. He didn’t have enough of an appetite to want to eat. Lewis seemed to be feeling just about as bad; he was sprawled out across the table, cheek pressed against the cool metal. Kowalski was having a lot of fun teasing him about his fear of doctors.

Still no trace of a uniform at any of the tables, just a sea of white lab coats and inductees in t-shirts and khakis.

“Check out the kid’s table.”

Olsen’s prosthetic arm glinted under the artificial lights. She wore it like it was a goddamn medal. Carson, at her shoulder, lightly elbowed her in the ribs. “Play nice, number one.”

“Newbies are on their way in,” she said, grinning. “Get your shots yet?”

“Our what?” Lewis asked.

Olsen collapsed at their table, her arm ringing loud against the table. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Jeff.”

“My name’s not Jeff.”

“Don’t tease, number one,” Carson said. He leaned close to Gabriel, smiling. “Part of the program. Didn’t you read the papers?”

Gabriel ran his hands into his short hair, nails biting into his scalp, trying hard to remember. A lot had been discussed about what _enhancement_ meant, but it had all been vague as shit. Could have been anything from a diet regiment to a nuclear soldier program pumping out discount Captain Americas.

The midday sun lilted through the skylights. There was a haze to the glass that Gabriel couldn’t explain, but it was beautiful—the whole, wide atrium caught in a warm yellow glow. Before he could get comfortable, the speakers flared to life.

Footsteps rose with the swell of music so ancient and so unbelievably tacky that it had to be a joke. _The Beach Boys_ , really?

Lewis lifted his head from the table, half-lidded eyes stuck on the door. Gabriel followed his eyes. A mushed group of inductees, with wide eyes and uncertain smiles, dressed in blue and gray. At least a hundred of them all together.

“Woah,” Kowalski breathed, “Straight tens, coming in hot.”

She wasn’t kidding. The men and woman that streamed in were all young, around his own age, with fresh faces, straight backs, and solid steps that spoke of years of military training.

The answer sprang to mind. “Military school kids?”

“I think you’re right,” Kowalski said, “Check out the shirt tucks.”

Gabriel watched the line pass with little interest. They were of a different stock than him, and a far cry from soldiers like Olsen, but it made sense. Half of them were probably kids of senators or hailed from military traditions centuries long. Money and influence.

The sun caught upon golden hair. Gabriel lifted his head a little. A memory surfaced from the depths of his mind. A bus coughed up fumes as it pulled away down a sleepy Los Angeles street. Beat-up tennis shoes landed on the sidewalk.

Couldn’t be—

Gabriel pushed away from the table, spine twisted to see. That profile—cold blue eyes, strong jaw, thin lips pressed into a neutral expression—he wasn’t wearing a yellow t-shirt or faded blue jeans, but it was _him_.

“You okay, Reyes?” Kowalski prodded at his side. “You look like you’re gonna lose your lunch.”

He stood up, one shaking hand braced against the table. When had he stopped breathing? When had his mouth gotten so dry?

Cold, clear eyes closed, just for a moment, only to snap open and catch him in their sights.

Jack Morrison stared straight at him, standing still in the line of moving bodies. A faint smile kicked up at the corner of his mouth before it opened. “Reyes?”

An inductee knocked right into Morrison, and he stumbled forward, boots moving fast across the tiled floor.

“Shit, Morrison, is that you?”

He couldn’t get himself to move. Couldn’t get himself to say something else. All he could do was blink, like he half-expected Morrison to fade away into the gentle afternoon light.

Morrison closed the gap, one hand extended, showing teeth now. His eyes narrowed to pinpricks in the light. “It’s been years.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel caught Morrison’s hand in his and gave a firm squeeze. “Can’t say I expected this.”

He tried to laugh. It came out awkward and forced, but relieved some of the anxiety that rippled under his skin like exposed wires. God, maybe he _was_ dreaming. A hot flush crept up his neck when he realized he was still holding Morrison’s hand in his shaky grip, and he pulled away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You, uh—got stationed in Nevada, right?”

“Yeah,” Morrison said, “Where’ve you been?”

Gabriel glanced back at the table. He moved to sit, and Morrison followed, plunking down by his side. More or less he looked the same. There was more of the scruffy blond hair on his head, and traces of stubble along his jaw. But he was taller—Gabriel hadn’t caught up—and wider. Not quite broad shouldered, but close. Still carried his poster-boy good looks, marred only by a thin scar that swept down from his hairline across his brow. Definitely handsome. That much was made clear by Kowalski's mooney eyes and the little half-smile that couldn't be wiped off her face.

“After they kicked my ass out of the military hospital?” Gabriel rubbed at his shoulder absently. A dislocated shoulder was far from a fatal wound, but they’d sure treated him like he was on his deathbed. “Finished basic up in San Fran. Got shipped off to Oregon. Big Omnium up in the mountains outside Portland. Lots of work out there.”

“Oregon’s a pretty quiet front,” Morrison murmured.

Gabriel’s cheeks burned. “Yeah. Thanks to people like me.”

It was all so surreal. Gabriel spread his hand out across the metal table, eager for an anchor to remind him that he was awake, that this was happening.

He could feel Morrison’s eyes on him, hard as steel. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Guess Nevada was more exciting,” Gabriel grumbled.

Morrison leaned forward on the table, eyes stuck on Olsen’s tray of food. The guy was probably starving, but he made no indication that he was going to get up and join the line. “Can’t say much.”

“Why, because you don’t want to, or because it’s classified?”

Morrison’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “Good guess. How’s your family?”

“Last I checked they were fine,” he said. He’d signed a waiver that agreed to no outside contact. For all they knew, he was dead, or deeply entrenched in an active division. Gabriel reached for his coffee and didn’t want to say anymore. That seemed fine by Morrison, who turned away with his hands folded under his chin, surveying the rest of the crew.

His new friends were perfectly quiet, just staring at them. It wasn’t like Olsen to be so quiet. A chill ran up his spine.

“You hungry?” Gabriel pushed his tray against Morrison’s arm.

“You don’t want it?”

“Nah,” he said.

White uniforms shuffled into the mess hall. Two dozen medical staff—his own ghost, Dr. Hale, present among them—lined up in the alley between tables and started calling out numbers like they were in a bingo hall. A few inductees grumbled. The rest were quiet, breathless.

“Thirteen.”

Shit. That was him. Gabriel’s stomach plummeted to the floor. No time to pick it up. Carson’s big hand slapped down on his shoulder. “Take it easy, man. It’s not a big thing.”

That did nothing to calm Gabriel’s nerves as he was lined up and funneled out of the hall along with twenty-three others.

-

“Relax, thirteen. This will only take a moment.”

The nurse—whether or not she was actually a nurse, or a scientist, he couldn’t tell—had a nice smile but vacant eyes. She moved around him, all business, getting him to shuck off his sweater and sit down on a freezing table. Humming under her breath, she tapped the end of a needle.

Gabriel’s tongue felt heavy and useless, but he managed to squeak out, “Uh, I’ve already done an exam today.”

“Oh? With Dr. Hale, yes.” She stepped back to his side, fingers pushing at his arm to turn it over. “You can expect to feel…off. Anything extraordinary, come see me again, alright?”

Extraordinary. Weird word choice.

She snapped buckles around his wrists. Gabriel’s heart slammed fast against his ribs. “What are you—”

“Just a precaution.” The nurse tightened the bonds, then moved down to his ankles to do the same. Shock kept him frozen. “In case you have a seizure, Mr. Reyes. Though I assure you, it’s never happened. The chances are very small.”

Gabriel bristled at the touch of the needle inside his elbow. He pulled against the buckles, metal and fabric biting into his skin.

It was over in a few minutes, and the nurse let him go with a wave and a smile.

Halfway down the dormitory hall he stumbled. It hit him like a ton of bricks, his legs going weak, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. He ambled along like a drunk, head spinning, throat parched, sweat beading on his brow. Nothing wanted to work right, and it was a wonder that he made it to the common room in one piece. He climbed over the back of the couch and let his body drop.

He fell into something like a light sleep, his mind blank and fuzzy.

“Hey.” He barely felt the prodding hand on his shoulder. “Thirteen, you look like shit.”

He groaned, too exhausted to open an eye. “Feel like it.”

“C’mon, kid, chin up. Tea?”

He lifted his head just enough to glare pointedly at Olsen. She stood over him, smiling widely, brown eyes alive and friendly. She pushed a mug against his hand. It took all his focus to open his fingers and accept it.

“It’s ginger. It helps. Trust me, kid.”

“Quit calling me that.”

“Not until you grow a little more chest hair,” Olsen said. “You gonna drink it or shall I take my motherly instincts elsewhere?”

“Fine,” he grunted.

It took all his strength just to sit upright, but it was worth it, because it did help. “How’d you know—”

Olsen flopped onto the couch beside him, stretching out like a cat sunning itself. “You looked pretty fuckin’ scared,” Olsen said, “Figured I’d jump the gun.” Inching closer, she patted him lightly on the arm. “Pretty rough, right? Like taking twelve shots of tequila all at once. You need anything, I’m just down the hall. Okay, kid?”

“Sure.”

He slumped back onto the couch. Olsen left with a wave of her hand. Alone in the common room, he rolled onto his back, feet up on the arm of the couch. The tea had calmed his nausea, but his head was still pounding, and his muscles and joints were sore. He let his eyes close and focused on his breathing, remembering something Roberta had told him once.

Gabriel felt someone’s presence and cracked open an eye.

Cold, clear eyes stared down at him. Morrison, wearing his trademark see-through-heads-like-glass stare, mouth tucked up at the corner like Gabriel was a question.

“What?” he grunted.

“Was just going to my room,” Morrison muttered, “Are…you okay?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows. Sweat prickled on the back of his neck. God, he felt like he could puke any minute, and there was _no way_ he’d let Morrison see him in such a pathetic state. “Yup. Just great.”

Morrison tipped his head. “Reyes—”

“Do you need something?” Gabriel tried to bite down on the harsh tone that left his throat, but it came out mean and ornery.

He rolled onto his side, throwing one foot down to the floor. He had to get up, get into his room, lock the door, and hope that no one else bothered him until the morning rolled around and he could get a cup of coffee into him. He stumbled to his feet, biting down on a groan.

Morrison was still standing there, staring at him. Gabriel was far too irritable to be bothered with someone trying to crack into his head.

“Just—” Morrison pulled his eyes away, stepping lightly around the couch.

Gabriel could see that he wanted to talk. Jack Morrison was standing beside him in some top-secret military facility, two years after they'd barely survived basic training. He never thought he'd see him again. Such was the nature of most wartime friendships. Dead, injured, or transferred. Morrison was probably thinking the same thing, but Gabriel didn’t have the energy to talk, as much as he would have wanted to provided he didn’t feel so sick.

“See you in the morning, Farm Boy,” he grunted.

He didn’t wait for a response. Once in his dorm, he collapsed on his bed and reached for the desk drawer. Frankie’s last letter was there. Drying it out hadn’t salvaged any of her words. He set it back on the desk and felt under the bed for his rucksack, feeling inside for his old UCLA hoodie.

He managed to pull it on even though the strength was quickly evaporating from his muscles, flopped back onto the pillow, and heaved a sigh.

Two years after leaving home, it still smelled like Los Angeles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter 10

Olsen’s prosthetic fist slammed into the mat beside his head. Gabriel barely reacted in time to roll free and throw a leg up and over her back, but she was far more experienced, and had no qualms with hurting him in order to win. A quick kick to his side ruined his escape. Gabriel tucked his head under his arms and flexed away in time to avoid another strike that would have smashed his nose in.

“C’mon, kid,” she goaded, “I’m bored.”

God, he wished he was anywhere else. Even in the goddamn med ward.

Didn’t help that Morrison was watching his stunning defeat.

Gabriel aimed his elbow at Olsen’s face, but she looped around it and snapped a hand around it instead. Pain jolted up his joint as she slammed his whole arm to the ground.

“What’d I say, kid?”

The heat that flushed under his skin had nothing to do with the woman who was far too close to him and everything to do with the fact that he _hated_ losing. Gabriel let a growl tear free from his throat as he sprang up, aiming his forehead for Olsen’s nose. She barked a laugh, drew back, and slammed an open palm against his forehead.

“You’ve got some spunk but you can’t fight for shit.”

Thankfully, there hadn’t been much of a crowd to see him lose. Not that it really mattered, when he thought about it— _everyone_ lost to Olsen, she was best on base in hand-to-hand thanks to that heavy metal arm—but Gabriel’s skin burned with embarrassment. Morrison had seen it.

Why it mattered, Gabriel couldn’t fathom.

“Hey,” Morrison grunted. Eloquent as always. Gabriel narrowed his eyes and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The room stank like sweat, and he probably did, too. He was mindful as Morrison drew close and dropped to his haunches on the mat beside him. He barely had the energy to lift his head off the mat, let alone get up. Morrison sat perfectly still, sizing him up. Infuriating, like the guy was half machine.

“The fuck do you want?” Gabriel snapped.

One of Morrison’s brows quirked. “Thirsty?”

He tossed a water bottle. Gabriel lifted a hand to catch it and missed. It hit him in the stomach and rolled away from his reach. “Geez,” Gabriel wheezed, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Do I look like I wanna talk?” Gabriel tried to swallow down the fire that rose in his stomach like indigestion. No point. It always got the better of him, and he couldn’t shut himself up. He’d just had his ass handed to him. He’d barely slept in a week since arriving at the facility, and hadn’t had a good rest for two weeks before that. The injections didn’t help, either. It all added up to one thing—an irritable, hellish version of himself—and he didn’t hold back.

“You can take your question and shove it,” he growled, “Kindly fuck off, would you, Farm Boy?”

Morrison remained on his haunches, his expression perfectly measured, before clapping his hands down on his thighs like it was a signal to his body to get up. Hands slipped into the pockets of his khakis like he hadn’t just been told to take a hike. “Heard some things,” he mumbled, “About the doctors here. Guess they think it’s funny not to tell the new kids.” His foot caught the water bottle and sent it rolling back into Gabriel’s side.

“Nothing about it is _funny_ ,” Gabriel snapped. “Didn’t they tell you shit when you got your offer?”

“What?”

“Come on,” Gabriel snarled. He was getting nasty, but a part of him didn’t care. A part of him wanted to cut to the quick. “Tell me you didn’t see the parade of senator’s kids.”

Morrison tipped his head like a dog. “What’s that have to do with doctors?”

“Forget it, kid.”

“Don’t start that shit with me.”

A dark tone had crept into Morrison’s voice. Definitely new. Gabriel felt some of his anger ebb away. He rolled onto his side, managed to lift his body into a sitting position, and reached for the water bottle. Sweat made him sticky and self-conscious. Why the hell had he worn a sweater to a scrap, anyway? “You’ve been here a week. I don’t get it. I’ve gone down that hall every day, and you haven’t been once?”

Morrison shook his head _no_. “What’s down there?”

“God,” Gabriel moaned, “I can’t decide which of us is in the control group.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little less vague.”

“Shit,” Gabriel sighed. “This doesn’t exactly add up. I’m trying to make sense of it.” He gestured to the now-empty training facility like the weight racks and treadmills were conspirators. “I got back from a mission and there was a plane waiting on the tarmac for me. I wasn’t really given the option to say no.”

“Oh.”

“So, that wasn’t your experience, that’s what you mean by ‘oh’?”

Morrison stood still for a moment, eyes focused somewhere distant, before flopping down on the mat with a _thump_. “I was told to apply.”

“By who?”

“Command.”

“You know why?”

Morrison shrugged. “No. Does it matter?”

“You’re awfully talkative tonight.”

Morrison leaned back on his arms and gave Gabriel a narrowed stare that wasn’t intimidating but didn’t make him feel any less self-conscious, either. It was like he was being measured up without being judged. “You stink.” Wrong on the judgment part.

“Thanks.” Gabriel reached for the neck of his sweater and started the arduous process of pulling it over his head. Cooler air hit his overheated skin, and he sighed. “Could give me some room, y’know.”

Morrison didn’t budge. “Olsen really kicked the shit out of you.”

His narrow eyes were focused on the inside of Gabriel’s elbow. Without thinking he smacked a hand over the track marks and hissed between gritted teeth. “C’mon, man. She didn’t do that.”

Morrison’s head tipped. “What happened?”

“Have you been paying attention at all?” Gabriel spat.

“So—” the gears were turning in Morrison’s mind, but so slowly that it made Gabriel angry again. “That’s what’s down the hall? More doctors?”

“They’re more like scientists."

“Huh.”

“Huh? That’s all you've got?” Gabriel pouted. “Just wait ‘til it’s your turn.”

“What’d they do to you?”

Gabriel flopped back on the mat, without care for how dramatic it—and the sigh that followed—was. He lifted his wrists. Small bruises encircled each. Not exactly pretty. “I signed off on it,” he muttered, “Didn’t you meet the lawyer?”

The touch of Morrison’s cool skin against his bruised wrist startled him, and Gabriel let out a hiss. Calloused fingers turned his wrist over, traced across splotches of blue and yellow, and paused over his pulse. Gabriel’s mouth was suddenly ash dry, and his mind raced for something to say, _anything_.

Morrison’s eyes focused on the spots. His mouth quirked up at the corner. “They tied you down?”

A blissfully cool finger traced down the inside of his wrist. Gabriel suppressed a shudder that threatened his resolve. Morrison’s quiet, calm expression just looked like one of pity.

“Do you mind?” he snapped. He yanked his hand away and tucked it to his chest. His heart hammered under his palm.

“Oh,” Morrison said, “I’m sorry.”

Gabriel’s stomach churned like it had every night since the injections started. He rolled to his feet, grabbed the water bottle Morrison had offered, and retrieved his sweater. “Nah, I’m being a dick. Just need some space.” He started for the door, paused, turned back. Gabriel tried to smile. He probably looked pathetic. “Pretty fuckin’ incredible, isn’t it?”

Morrison stared at him from the floor. “What?”

“You and me being here,” he said. Gabriel let the walls fall down. What did he have to prove, anyway? It was just him and Morrison in the gym. He was alone with a _friend_ , someone he’d trusted, even if it was a long time ago. “I really need a shower. We should talk later. Yeah?”

Morrison nodded. Gabriel turned around, words bouncing around his skull. They had time.

What were the chances Omnics would drop over their heads a second time?

The thought made him want to laugh.

-

Gabriel didn't manage to sleep that night, and was considerably _more_ sore and _more_ irritable through morning training, the visit to Dr. Hale, and that afternoon's mission prep. That one was new. He was crowded into something resembling a lecture hall with fifty others, listening to a woman drone on about military tactics that he had memorized and everyone present should have known. Maybe it was just an opener. Maybe it'd get better. Didn't matter much to Gabriel—this was where he could shine, if nowhere else.

He started to feel sick shortly before they were dismissed and given fifteen minutes before ground exercises. Lewis took their precious break time and ruined it with a graphic recount of how much he'd puked the night before. Carson seemed to think it was prime humor, and chuckled as he patted a big hand down on Lewis' back.

Half of the base was ferried out on a bus, like they were on a goddamn field trip, down a dirt road flanked by thick copses of trees. A few clicks from base the busses turned down a gravel road and pulled up beside a shelled-out complex of some kind. A tall, concrete fence ran around the perimeter. Thin overhead wiring shone in the afternoon light. Kept satellite eyes dazzled.

They formed a line and moved one by one into the complex.

A tech pushed a weapon into his hands. Lightweight metal. Gabriel turned it over slowly. "Paintball? Seriously?"

The tech didn't have anything to say to that, and ushered him away. Lewis caught up to his elbow, grinning from ear to ear. "Just like summer camp."

"Didn't realize the military was so broke they couldn't spare pulse munitions," Olsen grumbled. "Live fire exercises are the way to learn. How else are you gonna teach people to not wanna get shot if you don't...y'know. Shoot them?"

"Remind me to stay on your good side,” Lewis grunted.

"You've made a grave mistake in assuming you're already on it." Olsen's mouth opened wide in a devilish grin. She slapped a hand down on Lewis's shoulder. "Guess we're team one. My team."

The techs had sorted them into two lines without Gabriel noticing. Fifty each, with color-coded vests. Gabriel felt like he was at a friend's tenth birthday party.

Kowalski shared the sentiment. "I bet when this is done we’ll have group dance lessons and play truth or dare!"

Carson was unlucky enough to be on the rival blue team. Or, they were unlucky. Gabriel couldn't think past the noise of a technician explaining the very obvious rules of capture the flag.

Morrison wore blue. He caught Gabriel’s eye and frowned. Gabriel returned a quick smile that couldn’t have looked honest, and followed it up with a wink. _That_ made Morrison look confused.

"I'm gonna make friendship bracelets," Olsen muttered, "But only if we win."

“Oh, I’d love to see that.”

A whistle blew. No one moved until one of the techs ushered them with quiet ‘shoo, shoos’ toward their sides of the complex.

Gabriel figured it had been a mall. There were stairs and half-walls, mounds of concrete, and a bed of tile that was partially overgrown. He couldn’t figure what a mall would have been doing in the middle of the woods of whatever state they were in, however. The debris shifted under his feet. Definitely safe for a game. Definitely.

Their flag was hitched to a stairwell railing and rippled in the wind. It would be visible from every point on the map. Blue team’s flag wasn’t, however, which put them at an immediate disadvantage.

Of course, the team stuffed with military kids got the leg up.

The game started with the second blow of the whistle. With a whoop, Olsen raised her fist and yelled, and twenty bodies sprinted behind her, emboldened by her leadership.

Gabriel stuck behind. Someone always has to stick on point.

The paintball guns made a funny _pop, pop, pop_ sound. The grunts of pain when his teammates got hit made him want to laugh. At least forty people were tangled in the center of the complex, slipping on debris, firing wildly at friend and foe alike. They swore and yelled and carried on. Gabriel sat down on the stairwell.

For such a big man, Carson was quiet as death. Gabriel felt the ball against his back before he heard it.

“Sorry, bud. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

No one on his team noticed when five more military brats showed up and climbed the stairs for the flag. Quiet as death they retreated. Gabriel cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled, “Anyone feel like standing on the point, seeing as we’re currently losing?”

Olsen’s head appeared from underneath a tangle of limbs. “I don’t like that word!”

She pushed faces out of her way and stepped on someone’s back, rifle raised, and hollered a war cry that would make Braveheart proud. His time ran out and Gabriel rose to his feet. The techs were watching far too closely from their little hut in the center of the field. It made his skin twitch.

He ducked for cover and scraped his knee against concrete. Carson was quiet, but he was a huge target. He knelt with the five brats. The red flag passed between their hands. One by one, they burst out from cover, through the treachery of the complex. Olsen sighted them immediately, and sent her hounds on the hunt.

Good diversion. Two of the other brats looped back around towards him before breaking out into a run for their side of the map. The last two sprinted along the edge of the concrete wall. Carson didn’t seem as fast, and ambled after them. There was a slip of red in his pocket.

Gabriel climbed up a piece of broken wall and looped around Carson’s path to drop in front of him, paint gun raised. “Hand it over.”

Carson reached for his back pocket, but a wicked grin split his face in two. Gabriel ducked and rolled to the side as Carson fired his weapon one-handed. Paint splattered against the wall behind him. Scary how accurate the guy was left-handed.

He crouched behind cover and made his demand a second time. Carson only laughed.

A boot slammed down in the debris far too close to be comfortable. Gabriel tried to roll away, but the rifle swung toward his chest. Then, with all the grace of a ballerina, debris slipped out from under Carson’s feet and he landed hard on his back.

Gabriel wasted no time with talking and painted his friend’s vest red. “What’s mine is mine.”

He crept back to base feeling awfully proud of himself. Olsen and Kowalski were huddled down in the dirt together, like a sniper and a spotter. “Shit, kid, you were busy.”

“That’s the thing about capture the flag,” Gabriel grunted, “It’s just as important to keep yours safe as it is to capture theirs. Revolutionary thinking, I know.”

Olsen snorted. “Whatever. When you’re done feeding your ego get back out there and kick some ass. If you’re capable, of course.”

Gabriel followed her orders and ran out into the fray of screams, bodies, and dust. The afternoon sun made him sweat, and the dust stuck to his skin. Disgusting. Time and again, some military kid would get the bead on him, and he’d be out. Gabriel spent the first half of the game in respawn, collecting his thoughts and watching the madness that was Red Team under Olsen’s bloodthirsty reign. They were getting more hits, sure. Wild ones. Feet, ears, groins. The military kids only seemed capable of landing perfect body shots.

No one was pushing around the sides, leaving them prone to flanks. Gabriel—being just one man—couldn’t protect both.

They needed a better strategy.

He fell back and landed in the dirt at Olsen’s side. “Anyone know where their flag is yet?”

“Nope.” Olsen said it with a pop of her cheek. “I might have taken your advice, kid. We’re on defense.”

The fray in the middle of the complex certainly didn’t look like any real defensive strat he’d seen before. “We need a recon. I’ll do it, but—”

“Screw that. If we pull guys out of the middle, we’ll be overrun and they’ll blow past us. Or haven’t you noticed that they’re advancing?”

He hadn’t, mostly because he’d been too busy thinking.

“We’ll hold the line.” Olsen’s spotter smacked her on the shoulder, and Olsen loosed perfect shots into the fray, blanketing two recruits in red. “Anyway, you need to relax. It’s just a game.”

“Which is why they’re recording us?”

Olsen lifted her head from the sights of her gun and glared at the tech tent like she’d hoped it would catch on fire. “Huh. Didn’t notice. What do you expect, kid? We’re lab rats.”

“Yeah, and this isn’t for fun,” Gabriel growled. “Now would you listen to me?”

Olsen considered with her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. “Fine. Lay it on me, egghead.”

“We’ll let them gain ground. We’ll stop putting them back out after respawning and fortify base. I doubt they think you’ll switch it up at this point, so they’ll be a little cautious on approach. Get a good diversion going. They’ll be busy thinking about a counter while we slip a few recons around their flank on each side. If one group is seen, the other will run in and attack their front line from the back as a diversion. Following?”

“Keep talking.”

“Then we’ll get the recons who made it to split and attack their back line. One guy to get in, find their flag, and bring it home.”

“And what about the fortifications on their side?”

“You know how to count?”

Olsen made a face. “Let me take my shoes off. You’ll see.”

“There’s thirty-five on the field right now,” Gabriel said. “Six more in spawn. That leaves nine defenders, and we can assume that at least three of that nine are in our back line somewhere trying to catch us unaware.”

“Leaving six on point.”

“They got too bold,” Gabriel said. “We’ll have to wait for the moment. If we miss it, they’ll catch on and fall back.”

“What’s your story, kid?”

“No time for that. You in?”

“I’m in. Kowalski, you get all that?”

“Yes’m.”

“Don’t ‘yes’m’ me. I'm not some ninety-year-old southern belle. Alright, kid. Grab whoever you need now and get ready. I’ll give the order just like this.” She pulled a hand away from her rifle and raised a middle finger. "Think you can keep up?"

"Think so. Thanks, number one."

A wide smile flashed across Olsen's face. "Kiss-ass."

He found Lewis and pulled him out of spawn. A few others accepted his plan, and he split them into two. He crouched low behind a crumbled wall and tried to see past obstacles into their half of the map. Still no visible flutter of blue. The path around the left flank had better cover. He gestured to his team across the field. _Ready._

The fighting grew quieter by slow degrees. Blue advanced, as cautiously as he'd anticipated, as red vests began to swarm their fortifications. Olsen raised her finger at the enemy and screamed the filthiest words Gabriel had ever heard.

They shot off at the signal. Gabriel climbed over a section of wall and dropped low, with Lewis ahead, and a recruit named Khan to his right. He passed the point where Carson had sprayed concrete with blue and wound around the back of what appeared to have been a fountain.

Lewis lifted his head. "Team made it," he whispered, "Didn't think we'd do that well."

"You know the play. Keep going."

Gabriel kept his eyes open and head down. A blue guard stood with his back against cover, eyes glued on their advancing line.

They needed a distraction. Gabriel raised a fist, waited for the team across the field to response with a different signal, and flipped his fist over.

The second recon squad burst from their cover and peppered Blue Team's fort.

The guard sprang to life and ambled away. "That was easy," Lewis muttered, "C'mon."

Just as practiced, Lewis and Khan moved in on the distracted guards from the backline, and Gabriel slipped away from their attention. No one was there to see him unclip their flag from a broken pipe. He wrapped it around his arm and made for cover. Jubilation spiked adrenalin, and he gained speed despite the poor traction and maze-like terrain. For a few moments Gabriel forgot about how sweaty he was, how much his muscles ached, and thought only of the thrill of winning. The game was winding down with the descent of the sun through the sky. He'd score the first and last point. He'd be number _one_.

An eagle-like scream burst out louder than the rapid _pop_ of paintball guns. Rubble crunched and moved under quickly approaching feet. Gabriel dug in his heels and swung his rifle out straight.

He caught Jack Morrison in his sights. Not neutral-faced Poster Boy Morrison, though, but wannabe Rambo Morrison, with his team's flag wrapped around his head.

Gabriel froze. Morrison froze, too. Fifty meters apart, both with hands ready on the trigger, both with something to prove.

He hadn't seen Morrison at all during the game. "Where the hell have you been hiding?"

"I think you mean waiting."

How Morrison had managed to get into their base when the _whole goddamn team_ was there, and then out again without a lick of red paint on him, was a mystery that Gabriel didn't have time to think about.

"Guess this is where I ask you to surrender," Gabriel said.

"Not gonna happen."

Gabriel's finger twitched on the trigger. He'd seen Morrison's skill on the range back when the guy was _eighteen_. Favor held Morrison in its hands.

"Good plan." Morrison's mouth scrunched up at the corner into a smirk. "You were wrong, though. Only one in your backline."

"You _heard_ that?"

"You gonna take your shot, or do I get the honor?"

Gabriel grit his teeth.

"I think I get it." Morrison hazarded a step forward, and cocked an eyebrow under his goggles when Gabriel didn't flinch. "You still can't shoot worth shit, can you?"

Heat burned under Gabriel's skin. "You're stalling."

"The first shot is yours."

Gabriel's stomach roiled. A fresh sweat broke out across his brow and dampened the back of his neck. Shit. Great time to feel like he was gonna puke.

Morrison lowered his rifle and waved it to the side. "Guess I was right—"

Gabriel lifted his rifle to his shoulder and didn't think.

The kickback still hurt his shoulder, years after the injury, but all was forgotten split seconds later, when red hit Morrison square between the eyes.

Blue eyes stretched wide. Morrison's rifle fell from his hands and clattered against the ground. Blinking hard now, Farm Boy folded backwards onto his ass.

"Guess I've learned a few things."

He made no efforts to hide his grin. Sweeping past Morrison, he palmed his team flag off his head and sprinted for base. He climbed up on the outside of the railing and clipped both flags up, raised a fist, and prepared himself for the incoming hugs, jostles, and manhandling of his team.

“Lucky thirteen!” Olsen whooped.

His stomach had other ideas, though. Gabriel fell to his knees and puked his guts out.

“Geez, gross!” Olsen shrieked. 

At least they'd won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

Gabriel spent the night in the sick ward, unable to sleep. Every joint in his body ached like it was a moment away from breaking. Muscles strained by the day's adventure twinged like little knives were stuck underneath his skin. He dug fingernails into his palms and bit his lip in a meek attempt to distract himself with new pain. Nothing seemed to dull the twists in his body.

Whatever the hell they were giving him, he couldn't see the benefit.

Scientists—or doctors, whatever—crowded around him when morning broke at 0530h.

He answered questions he had no interest in and allowed them to pull blood from his body and press diodes to his forehead. Not again. God, but Gabriel wasn't in a place to argue, exhausted and pulled apart. Maybe they could put him back together. Maybe—

The next thing he knew he was in his bunk, with beams of light stinging against his eyes. Olsen loomed over him. He was too tired to be scared.

"What."

“Rise ‘n shine, kid. Doc asked me to check up on you. I’m a woman of my word.”

“That’s not…” Gabriel’s sluggish, fevered mind struggled to find the word he wanted. “Necessary.”

“Oh, psh.” Olsen dropped something light and warm on his chest. “You’ll feel worse if you don’t get up and pretend like you’re a normal person, okay? So here’s some clothes. Fresh out of the dryer.”

“Uh…”

Gabriel tried to lift his head, and the room tipped on a strange angle. His body was heavy and slipped off the edge of the bed. Kowalski intercepted him with a gentle, “Woah, Reyes. You’re heavier than you look.”

“Hey, listen to me, kid.” Olsen knelt down on the floor where Kowalski laid him out like a ragdoll. “First day off! Isn’t that great? Yeah?”

Olsen’s chipper tone stung his ears. “Sure.”

It had only been a week. Just a week. Goddamn. “Olsen.”

“Yeah, kid?”

“I’m not sure I can stand.”

“Sure you can.” Olsen and Kowalski each took one of his arms, and soon his bare feet touched the floor. His knees felt like they were shaking, but it was difficult to register much past the constant waves of joint pain and the ever-present nausea.

At his own insistence, they left him alone to change. It wasn’t his sweater—it was far too big. Carson’s.

They waited outside. Kowalski gave him a cup of that ginger tea Olsen swore by, and led him down the hall to the common room. A few people he had exchanged words with milled around, half of them about as green as himself.

Gabriel collapsed onto a couch and curled up without regard for how pathetic he looked. Who cared, when everyone else was suffering through it? “What do you think they’re giving us?”

“I don’t wanna know,” a voice mumbled from the floor. Lewis was crammed in the space between the couch and the coffee table with his arms tucked over his head, face-down. “I feel like personified garbage.”

“That’s high praise,” Olsen said brightly. She fell onto the couch beside him and swung her feet up on the coffee table. “Wanted to tell you personally, but you were pretty gross yesterday. I was impressed.”

The compliment sounded genuine, but Gabriel didn’t really care at the moment. “Yeah.”

“No one else was brave enough to question my plan,” she said. “I mean, we probably could have held it, but we wouldn’t have moved forward. More fun to dick around, but—” a twinkling eye turned on him. “—I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s nice to see that someone cares.”

“They were studying us. Making notes.” Gabriel motioned with a hand. His fingers blurred and fused together in front of his numbed eyes.

“Us, or them?”

“Both, I think,” Gabriel said. “This building is brand new. Brand new program. We’re the first round, which makes the kids the second, I guess. Think there will be more next week?”

“Not enough space in the facility,” Olsen said. “They really splurged with the individual rooms.”

"Hey, morning, Morrison." Kowalski chirped.

Gabriel let his head roll onto the back of the couch. Morrison looked no worse for wear. Kowalski rocked back and forth on her feet, like a nervous kid, smiling wanly at Farm Boy.

"Morning," he returned, voice flat.

He kept walking. Kowalski's eyes followed him, slowly narrowing until he disappeared down the hall. "What's gotten into him?"

Gabriel could make an educated guess that it was his fault.

"Alright." Olsen lifted herself off the couch, wavering for a moment on her feet. "I guess I'll start making those friendship bracelets. Think there's any string kicking around?"

"Wait, you were serious?"

"I never joke," Olsen said. "We did good yesterday. Wanna help?”

“Hell no.”

-

The sickness got easier to deal with as each day turned over. Either they were pumping different stuff into him, or he was adjusting. Week two came and went. No one new arrived at the facility. By week three, Olsen let him braid her hair, and Kowalski began to regale him with stories about the budding music career she'd let die for the cause. They quickly established a morning routine. He'd help Olsen and Kowalski put their hair up while Carson cracked jokes. Lewis had a different friend to drag to their group every morning, none of whom stuck. Carson used his uncanny ability to neutralize hostile situations between sickened inductees, of which there were plenty, until week four rolled around and everyone seemed to level out. He never found a chance to talk to Morrison like he'd promised. Farm Boy was awfully good at keeping his distance, even when they were sitting at the same table in the mess hall, even when they were out on the track together.

Gabriel didn't have time to think about what he did to piss Morrison off—would he have taken losing a game of paintball that seriously?—because by the end of the first month at SEP he was feeling almost back to normal, and had somehow gotten caught up in a ping-pong tournament.

He wasn't good, but neither was anyone else. The rapid thok, thok, thok of the ball filled his head as Kowalski and Lewis battled it out. Olsen was far too invested in the game, cheering Kowalski on like a soccer mom. Slowly a crowd gathered, and Gabriel was put in charge of building a tournament roster.

After a win, Kowalski pulled him aside, mouth pulled up in a soft smile. "You a betting man?"

"Nah," he said with a wave of his hand, "I'm just in this to see Olsen knock some teeth loose."

Olsen won everything. She was either wickedly talented or incredibly lucky.

"I was thinking about inviting some of the brats up." Kowalski worked long, thin fingers through her auburn hair.

"Please don't tell me you have a crush on one of them."

She snorted. "What? No. I just think Olsen's too harsh on them. They're not so annoying once you talk to them and try to remember that they're people."

"Uh huh." Gabriel didn't believe her, but it didn't matter. "I'll go down with you. Never been on their floor before. Anyway, I saw the parade, too. You're only human."

Kowalski was fair-skinned and turned beet red when she was flustered. "Ugh, don't be gross."

"I'll be your wingman, okay? What's your type?"

They stepped onto the elevator together. He snapped the button. Once the doors closed, Kowalski started talking again.

"He's, uh—actually, I wanted to ask you."

"What my type is?"

"No. How you met him."

Oh. "You're talking about Morrison?" Gabriel bit down on a dry laugh. "If you want to invite him to the game, we're going to the wrong floor."

"I actually meant what I said about the brats," she growled, fixing him with a pointed stare. "So?"

"So?"

She groaned. "How do you know him?"

"From basic."

"Did you know him well?"

"Thought I did," Gabriel growled. He'd brought Morrison home when he had nowhere else to go and caught a glimpse behind the walls, if only for a moment. But that didn't mean he knew him at all. And if Morrison's current distance was any indication, he didn't like Gabriel much. "He's, uh—quiet. Used to be. Talks more now." His mouth twisted up into a frown. "Always liked to be alone, never figured out why. He has this neat trick of avoiding questions."

The elevator let them off. Kowalski stuffed her hands into her pockets and sauntered ahead down the hall. There was a bit of noise from the common room.

"You know what," he said, "You go invite them up. I'll see if I can drag Morrison upstairs."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. See you in a few." He let the elevator doors close and punched the button for the main floor.

He checked the track first, then the mess hall, and stopped outside the gym when he heard the unmistakable smack of a fist against a punching bag.

He fell back a step and craned his head around the door. Sure enough, there was Morrison, drenched with sweat and wailing on the thing like he wanted to beat the stuffing out of it. Gabriel watched for a minute, wondering if he'd look up. Fierce concentration was a fire in his eyes. His form was perfect, and his punches looked strong. Gabriel cleared his throat, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the door frame.

"Goddamn it, Jack, where'd you learn to throw a punch?"

Morrison's shoulders snapped up and a hiss steamed from between his teeth. He turned his neck toward Gabriel, his look of surprise simmering into a simple glare. "The fuck do you want?"

"Don't act too excited to see me," Gabriel mumbled. Morrison's stance remained tightly wound, like he was ready to strike. Clear blue eyes stayed locked on him. Gabriel certainly didn't want his face to end up looking like the punching bag, and tried to smile. "We're having a ping pong tournament upstairs. Thought you'd want in."

"Why would you think that?"

"What, it isn't Indiana's state sport?" Gabriel drew up his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.

The effect on Morrison was instant. Muscles in his jaw flexed. Maybe Gabriel liked pissing him off, just a little. It was nice to see Morrison showing a lick of emotion.

"No? Five pin bowling? Darts?"

Morrison turned back to the bag and landed a solid punch. Gabriel had no illusions that Morrison was imagining his smug face there.

"C'mon, Jack—"

"Don't call me that."

"Fine, John."

Morrison's spine straightened. He slapped his palms against the bag to bring it to rest. The glare that Morrison threw over his shoulder was smooth, strange. Calculating something in that weird head of his.

"Ping pong," he said flatly, "You're kidding."

"What, afraid you'll lose?"

Morrison remained still, but there was a challenge in his blue eyes. His mouth scrunched up at the corner. "You're on."

-

Lewis was on a solid losing streak. The arrival of the military kids meant that he had to scrap the existing roster and rework it, with close to seventy names on the board. Olsen was glued to the table, following each match like her life depended on them winning. Carson huddled with the mush of kids, making small talk. Gabriel flopped onto the couch. Kowalski and Morrison were in the corner talking. He'd done something right.

He managed to nod off when a pair of hands rattled him. "Reyes, old man, wake up," Lewis urged, "You gotta see this."

It was loud. Loud enough that Gabriel was surprised he'd been sleeping, but the injections ruined any semblance of normalcy. _Thok thok thok_. Olsen chased the ball, eyes burning like a wildfire. Perrault was swearing under his breath, flinching away from her serves.

"You're up, thirteen!" Olsen threw the paddle to him and he nearly dropped it. Perrault passed his off to Morrison.

Game on.

Olsen caught him by the shoulder and hissed into his ear. "Make me proud, kid."

He picked the ball off the table. Morrison waited, eyes glued on him, paddle ready and shoulders squared. His lip pulled back to bare white teeth, like he was ready to rip his throat out. Gabriel fought back his nerves and grinned. "Ready, Farm Boy?"

One thing could be said about Morrison—the guy gave a hundred percent to whatever he did. He had all the drive and ambition of an attack dog, with focus narrowed to the task at hand. Every returned serve was stronger than Gabriel's. Every swing of his arm rocketed the ball toward the table, allowing it to bounce high. Gabriel had to give precious ground to reach.

There was a rhythm to the game that put him in a trance. Soon, he was nearly deaf to the crowd in the room, and blind to everything that wasn't in front of him. His heart pounded. His lungs struggled to catch breaths. Sweat beaded against his forehead. He was still wearing a sweater, of course. Like he was trying to overheat himself.

Gabriel fumbled a serve and swore under his breath. Morrison leered at him.

Someone put the intercom on. The beat of the song matched the tempo of their game. _God only knows_...thok, thok, thok. Gabriel was going to find whomever it was that liked the Beach Boys this goddamn much and rip them a new one, if he didn't break their computer.

_God only knows what I'd be without you._

Gabriel missed the ball.

He served it back, and Morrison fumbled the return into the net.

"What's the matter, Farm Boy?" Gabriel panted.

The momentum of the match was all but gone. Gabriel struggled to work up a pace again, but luckily Morrison had the same shit luck. His skin burned hot as the fires of hell. He had to win. Wanted to—

Serve. Gabriel ducked to the right and lost his balance the moment his paddle connected with the ball. He stumbled to the floor and landed hard on his bad shoulder, yelping at the contact. The ball hit the floor on the other side.

"Boo," Lewis hooted, "You suck!"

Gabriel pushed his weight off his bad shoulder. He'd hit it at just the right angle, too, and it'd be sore for days.

He pulled himself up with the help of the table. Olsen patted him gently on the head, ruffling his hair. On the other side of the table, Morrison was alone.

Morrison served. Gabriel made a show of reaching for it, and missed.

That broke the tie and ended the game. Olsen pulled him away and looked ready to give him a lecture, but seemed to change her mind halfway through the idea. "Whatever. I'll bring it back."

"Sorry, Tex."

Olsen versus One-twelve. Gabriel wandered away from the ruckus. It was quiet down the hall. Almost serene when no one was fucking or crying. Or multitasking.

His room almost felt like home. Old letters from back home covered the desk. Olsen's hideous attempt at a friendship bracelet hung off his desk lamp. His UCLA sweater was draped over the back of the chair. Dozens of Frankie's photos were stuck to the wall. His family smiled down at him, frozen in time. He wondered how different they looked now.

The hairs on the back of his neck raised. A shadow eclipsed the open door, and before Gabriel could think, a hand slammed against his chest and forced him against the wall.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Gabriel gulped for air. Panic and fear twisted up in his stomach, made his body go ice cold. Morrison's long, oval face was darkened with shadows. Narrow blue eyes bit like drill bits into his skull. White teeth bared in a snarl glinted in the dark.

"Jack—"

Calloused fingers were hot against his exposed collarbone, but there was nothing intimate in the gesture, only something intimidating.

"You threw the match," Morrison hissed, voice low and venomous. "What? You didn't think I could beat your ass?"

"You're upset about ping pong?"

Fingers curled in his sweater. Gabriel could feel the sting of nails through thick cotton. Morrison leaned in close, jaw rigid, eyes narrowed. "Do you have a problem with me?"

The fire settled in Morrison's eyes for a fleeting moment. Gabriel's stomach heaved. Now was a great time to puke. As usual, right when he needed to say something properly, his throat was dry and his tongue felt heavy and useless.

Morrison's blond hair looked so soft. The shadows bit into his jaw, made his blue eyes seem lighter. The slight tang of oranges peels and the sharper scent of gun oil lingered between them.

Gabriel racked his mind for an answer and came up short.

"No," he managed weakly. Morrison's grip tightened on his sweater. His tongue worked fast. "What's gotten into you, Jack? You're acting like—"

The thought slammed into his skull like a goddamn hammer. Gabriel snapped up Morrison's wrist and twisted his arm. He hissed in pain and pulled against him, and Gabriel softened his grip.

He held Morrison by the elbow and pushed up his sleeve with his thumb. Morrison's skin was so pale that the bruise shone against him like someone had drawn on him with a highlighter.

Morrison's muscles relaxed. A sigh rumbled from his lips.

"When did this start?"

"Two weeks ago," Morrison muttered. Gabriel could feel the twitch of his pulse under his thumb. Rapid.

"I thought none of you were getting them."

"They just started." Morrison made no effort to pull away from his grasp. Gabriel loosened his fingers, but let his thumb remain on the inside of his elbow. "The nurse said I was put in the wrong group. One-seventy-six started when he wasn't supposed to." He paused, eyes lingering somewhere past Gabriel's shoulder. "She said that his dad's gonna be pissed. What do you think that means?"

"We're the guinea pigs, is what it means," Gabriel grunted. "I bet his dad's a politician."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"You been sick?"

Morrison shook his head slowly. "Just..."

"Aggravated?"

"Angry."

Gabriel pulled his weight off the wall. Part of him didn't want to break contact. Morrison was talking. One word answers were still goddamn answers. "Why didn't you say something, Jack?"

He worked his jaw, lifted his shoulders in a loose shrug. "It's embarrassing. Like I can't control myself."

Gabriel moved the pad of his thumb over the bruise without meaning to, and Morrison winced.

"Shit, sorry."

"It's fine." Morrison stared hard at the wall behind him. Gabriel wondered if he was inspecting the photographs. "They called me down before rec time. Caught me alone. Down that hall, and—he didn't look at me like I was a person. Called me seventy-six instead of Jack. I told him no. He said I'd already given consent."

"God, Jack—" What could he say that would make things better? Except—"I wish you'd told me."

Morrison finally uncurled his fingers from Gabriel's sweater. Warm hands pressed against his chest just for a second, before winding into his blond hair, sweeping down to the back of his neck. Gabriel let go of his elbow.

With physical contact gone, part of the spell was broken, but Gabriel's breath caught in his throat. Morrison was close. They were almost at eye level. Back in basic, he'd been shorter by at least ten centimeters. Maybe that's why he felt like his bones were being pulled apart. Growing pains.

Silence. Comfortable, almost. The smell of orange peels was making Gabriel dizzy. He shifted against the wall, needing air, needing space, but Morrison had all of it.

"Could we—try again?" Morrison's mouth was twisted up in a frown, like he'd said the wrong thing. "I want to be friends."

"We _are_ friends, Jack."

His eyes widened, like he honestly hadn't expected him to say that. "Oh."

He clapped a hand on Morrison's shoulders, squeezed, let him go. "You got a minute? Or do you want to go play more ping pong? I bet you're up."

Morrison's mouth turned up in a slight smile. "Probably. But, ah, no. Not really my kind of game." He paused, mouth tucked up, thinking. "So yeah, I've got a minute."

Gabriel stepped away from Morrison and plunked down on the edge of his bed. He patted the comforter beside him. With the door still wide open, and sound leaking from down the hall, it was a friendly gesture, nothing more.

Morrison sat down carefully, slowly, like he was afraid the offer would be rescinded. Gabriel rested back against the wall, rolling his shoulder under his hand. His earlier tumble left it dull and aching.

"Still bugs you, huh?" Morrison's eyes were silver in the dark.

"Yeah. I'm pretty used to it, though." Gabriel flattened out his hand on the muscle. "You came out clear as day."

Morrison leaned forward a little. If Gabriel closed his eyes he could remember it perfectly; blood caked under Morrison's nose, ash darkening his hair, blue eyes wide and terrified. Gabriel bit down on his tongue. Maybe he was wrong.

"Guess so," Morrison mumbled. Gabriel could tell that it was a lie, but he chose to leave his friend's pride intact.

"So, how do you feel? Like Captain America yet?" Gabriel grinned, hoping that a little levity would bring Morrison's spirits up. When Morrison didn't answer, Gabriel punched him playfully on the arm. "Chin up, Blondie. Consider it a break."

"Huh?"

"SEP," Gabriel said. He stretched his arms wide, gesturing at the confines of his little dorm room. "Tex keeps calling it summer camp. I don't think she's too off base."

"We shouldn't be here." Morrison shifted on the mattress to drag one knee to his chest, arms tucked around it. He stared hard across the room, decidedly ignoring Gabriel's eyes. "We signed up to fight, not to pump ourselves full of drugs and waste our time playing ping pong."

He felt the same, but Gabriel was trapped like an animal in a cage, and part of him wanted to make the best of it.

"Where were you stationed?"

"Texas. Mexico." Morrison froze up. "Shit, I'm not supposed to tell you."

"Where's the secret?" Texas was the worst of the fighting. The whole strip between the Gulf and the Rockies was a constant war zone. Gabriel had expected to be sent to the front lines out of Basic, and a lot of people considered him lucky for getting whisked away to Oregon. Most of those people were dead, now. Probably right.

It was a living nightmare.

Morrison studied the pictures and letters on the wall, like he was trying to figure out what they were. "You must miss them."

"Yeah. Like hell."

Morrison looked at him from the corner of his eye, trying to size him up, get a good read.

"What?"

"Just thinking," Morrison said.

"No shit."

Morrison uncurled himself, stretching out long legs. He sat back on his hands. "I'm not that good at math."

Gabriel cocked his head. Morrison glanced at him for a moment, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm trying to work out the odds."

"Of what?"

"You and me being here."

“Yeah. I’ve been wondering about it, too.” Gabriel shifted his weight, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of Morrison’s eyes. He broke contact, staring at the pictures on the walls. The closest one was of him, Roberta, and Luis. Next to it was a picture of him and Joel, barely fifteen years old, smiling like they didn’t know anything else but pure happiness. There were pictures of him and Morrison somewhere, probably back at the house tucked into a shoebox, long forgotten. Fate or chance?

Morrison was still and quiet in the dark. Light leaked in from down the hall, along with the sound of the game and dull murmurs and laughter.

“Maybe it’s not a coincidence,” Gabriel said.

“You think—” Morrison shifted on the bed, rustling the comforter. “—You think maybe we’re here because of what happened in Los Angeles?”

“It’s a good story.”

A slight smile tugged at Morrison’s mouth. “Yeah, on paper.” Turning away, he rested his chin on top of his knee. His back moved with a long, drawn-out sigh. “I never thought I’d see you again.” Silvery blue eyes turned to him, half hidden by Morrison’s arm. Sharp, intense. “I thought you were dead.”

Gabriel didn’t know what to say. He probably should be dead, yeah. He came close a few times while fighting to regain territory in downtown Portland. Sometimes he woke up thinking about it.

He stared back at Morrison, hoping a thought would form and turn to words on his tongue, but his breath caught in his throat instead. “You feel better?” he managed. It felt like a dismissal, like a cheap way of avoiding the sledgehammer topics. And maybe it was, but Gabriel couldn’t get himself to say _I used to think about you, before I gave up on the idea that you could still be alive._

"Yeah. Sorry I lost my shit on you." Morrison smiled thinly. "Tell me one thing."

"Sure."

"Did you throw the match or not?"

Gabriel snorted, rolled his eyes. "C’mon, Blondie.”

Morrison untangled his legs and slid off the bed. He stopped by the door, throwing a glance back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he mumbled, “For everything.”

“It’s nothing,” Gabriel said.

Morrison closed the door gently after him, leaving Gabriel alone with the scent of orange peels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com
> 
> In case anyone's wondering what the song mentioned here is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EkPy18xW1j8


	12. Chapter 12

In typical summer fashion, the season was gone before Gabriel could grasp it.

At the end of every week they worked on different, in-depth field exercises; everything from infiltration missions in units of five to full-scale simulations. A roster was put up in the mess hall. A challenge. On Sunday mornings the mess hall would be crowded with inductees pushing to see their place. He was delighted to see his name rising above the rest, on par with Olsen, Perrault, Morrison, and Khan.

Routine became a steady pace. By the end of July, he started looking forward to his visits to the med wing. His nurse had a veritable library in her dorm and would slip him titles to sneak out under his sweater. Kowalski and Lewis followed him around like puppies, laughing at even the worst of his jokes, asking for advice on field missions. He was more than happy to help. They were a strange little family, but a family nonetheless, and it made his homesickness easier to deal with.

Fighting against the side effects of the serum was a different story altogether.

No one seemed to have any luck in fighting against the varying degrees of sickness. Despite the nausea or the shakes or the numbness—whatever that week had in store—Gabriel could feel his body changing. He'd always been athletic, and for the most part, basic training had been a breeze. He was well past those fitness standards now. He could climb up walls without breaking a sweat. Could carry twice his weight on a forced march. Simple things, like controlling recoil and spread, became second nature. His right shoulder had once ached at the end of every day, but now it was almost possible to forget.

Under the blistering August sun, he could close his eyes and pretend he was back in California.

The smell of fresh cut grass was overpowering out on the track. Boots padded against the ground, a constant percussive rhythm to the run. It was just him and his friends, now; everyone else had gone inside early, blaming the heat.

He couldn't stomach the idea of a military kid passing him on the board, and he wasn't alone in that thought.

Olsen elbowed him as she pulled ahead, lighter and faster, her metal and plastic arm shining yellow in the sun. "C'mon, kid. Keep up."

She and Morrison were the fastest out of the group. Gabriel was faster than Carson, but not by much. He'd never been a long-distance runner, and he'd never been particularly fast. When Morrison lapped them— _again_ —Carson started laughing between panting breaths.

Morrison matched him for determination, but threatened to surpass him for work ethic. Like every day, they'd be the last two out on the field, pushing their bodies to the limits. Gabriel thrived with the competition, and didn't mind when their names switched places on the roster every Sunday morning. It was nice to have someone around to push him, to keep his mind clear and his focus sharp.

Carson was the first to give up on laps, and plunked down in the grass, giving a thumbs-up and encouragement to everyone as they passed. Gabriel was now in last place, struggling behind Kowalski. Her auburn hair was nearly black with sweat, and she was breathing hard, almost wheezing.

Olsen pulled up beside him, slowing just for a moment to annoy him with a poke to the side. "I'm guessing you weren't a track star in high school."

He kicked out, trying to trip her, and she danced away, laughing.

Morrison pulled up around the track, long strides leaving them in the dust. From up ahead he said, "You're off your game today, Reyes."

"That's it." Gabriel slowed to a halt, unsteady on his feet. His legs were shaking with exertion. "Get back here, Farm Boy."

Morrison ground to a stop. So did Olsen, glancing between them, a glimmer in her eyes. "Oh, you two gonna fight? Can we take bets?"

"What's that about a fight?" Kowalski reappeared, slicking sweat away from her freckled brow with the back of her hand.

"Olsen," he said, "Up."

"What?"

Gabriel knealt down. He was _exhausted_ , and thought maybe his knees would give out, but no one could ever say that he didn't give one-hundred percent. "How much do you weigh, Tex?"

A slow grin curled across her mouth. "Seventy."

"And you, Freckles?"

She caught on slowly, but Morrison still looked confused beside her. "Fifty-five."

"I'd say that's fair," he said, "Seeing as I've got almost twenty kilos on you."

"I don't follow," Morrison said.

Olsen understood perfectly fine, and leapt onto his back with a whoop, arms curled around his neck. He gripped under her thighs and hiked her up, eking out a laugh. Back straight, bowed forward just a little, he grinned wickedly at Morrison. "Try to keep up, Blondie."

He took off down the track, legs burning, heart thumping, Olsen heavy and hot as an inferno on his back. The sun burned his eyes. Sweat slicked down his forehead.

He much preferred weight training, anyway.

Morrison caught up without too much trouble, but Gabriel knew that the guy wasn't built for forced marches. He was too top-heavy.

Farm Boy was red-faced and sweating buckets. Kowalski, at least, seemed to be enjoying the break, and the chance to put her arms around Morrison's neck.

"What's the matter, Farm Boy?" Gabriel taunted, "You look a little pink."

Morrison panted hard, but he kept pace, gradually starting to slow around the bend of the track.

Adrenalin surged like electricity under Gabriel's skin. He still wasn't fast, and Olsen felt fucking _heavy_ , but he wanted to make it around the track, to where Carson was laying in the grass, first.

Olsen had the same idea, and yelled, "Mover el culo, cabrón! No pierdo!"

He got the gist of it. _Move your ass_. Throwing his weight forward, leaning hard into the run, he grunted, "Don't worry, Tex. It's in the refrigerator."

"What?" Morrison panted. "What does that _mean_?"

Kowalski shrieked. Morrison was catching up, and Olsen was playing dirty by reaching out to grab at her.

Lewis strode by, expression perfectly neutral. "What the hell kind of pissing match is this?"

"Jeff!" Olsen reached out for him, fingers curling in his shirt. Gabriel amended his track to keep from slamming into him, and stumbled, allowing Morrison to gain precious ground.

"Will you two fucking _stop_?"

Olsen leaned to the side, upsetting his balance, hanging on to Lewis' shirt like her life depended on it.

"Jeff," she wheezed, "Get up here."

"What?"

"Get up here!" Olsen dragged Lewis into his path, and Gabriel ground to a stop, cursing under his breath.

Lewis climbed onto Olsen's back. He probably weighed less than she did, but Gabriel wasn't exactly happy about the decision. The weight itself wasn't the problem, even though his legs were shaking. The problem was balance.

Up around the curve, Morrison glanced back, and his expression made Olsen's shitty idea brilliant.

Morrison slowly came to a stop as Gabriel approached, managing a light jog under his unbalanced load. His eyes were practically bulging out of his skull. "Are you—are you _really_ —"

"Don't stop on my account," Gabriel ground out.

He had to pitch forward to keep Lewis from falling off. He stumbled to break the jog, gaining momentum, speed. He caught up to Morrison, who was standing still, flushed pink and gleaming with sweat.

Olsen reached out for Kowalski and gave her a shove, and Morrison stumbled with the shift in weight, one foot crossing over the other as he lost his footing. Seizing the opportunity before Gabriel could jog away, Olsen grabbed hold of Kowalski's sweater, and all five of them collided.

Morrison and Kowalski tipped over sideways, landing soft in the grass. Olsen somehow managed to throw Lewis off her shoulders and then Gabriel was on the ground pinned underneath her, face shoved into the dirt.

Sharp elbows dug into his back as Olsen lifted herself free. A harsh, barking laugh rolled from her lungs, halted only by a coughing fit. "Worth it," she wheezed, "Look at your face, Freckles!"

"You're such a cheap shot," Kowalski whined.

Olsen hooked an arm under him and hauled him to his feet. Gabriel was sure his legs would give out. She let out a low whistle. "Tax dollars at work. Damn."

In the grass, Kowalski lifted herself to a sitting position. Morrison was already standing, his white shirt stained with green, tufts of grass stuck to his sweaty skin.

Gabriel had no interest in running any more laps, and let Olsen lead him back to where Carson was happily napping in the sun. They plopped down together, soon joined by Lewis, and then Kowalski.

Gabriel laid back, eyes searching the wide blue sky.

It was never so clear in Los Angeles.

Morrison thundered by. Gabriel let his head roll to the side to watch him round the track. He _definitely_ beat the rest of them for work ethic. Groaning, Gabriel lifted himself onto his elbows.

He was planning on running another lap, but Olsen folded onto his shoulder, heaving a sigh. "I feel like a kid again," she said, "Been so long since I was home."

"I can't believe I miss Grand Rapids," Kowalski muttered.

The thought of home—the contrast of his quiet neighborhood to the city itself, the constant looming smog—made his chest heavy. He pulled himself away from Olsen, deaf to their conversation, and started up a slight jog.

Morrison steamed around the track, slowing when he saw Gabriel, a wide grin spread across his face.

Wordlessly they fell into pace together. Gabriel had no energy to compete, but he wanted to match Morrison. Farm Boy seemed to understand. Part of it was routine.

They ran until the the sun started to sink below the mountains.

-

After a long shower and enough food for three people, Gabriel gathered his nerves and walked down through the empty administration wing of the building, Frankie's letters folded into one hand, the other tucked into a pocket. The setting sun cast the white halls in red and orange. The facility was still clinically clean and every footstep echoed hard against his ears.

Olivia Deschamp’s office had a nice view of the training grounds, but she had the blinds half-pulled to keep out the glare of the sun. She invited him to sit and offered him a cup of tea along with a smile. Gabriel accepted both.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Reyes?”

“You can call me Gabriel,” he said, “I have a request.”

“Of course.”

He spread Frankie’s letters out on her desk. The setting sun painted them orange. “My family hasn’t heard from me in almost three months,” he said. “I understand that I signed off on no-contact—”

Deschamps inhaled slowly and tipped her head. Her red hair was caught up in a bun, but a strand slipped free, breaking her rigid profile. It softened the rejection by a small degree. “You _chose_ to sign those papers, Mr. Reyes.”

He sat up straighter and smiled plainly, like he wasn’t too eager. “I understand that. Just two things.” He held up a hand, two fingers raised. “One, I did not receive prior notification, as I was supposed to, and I was not given a chance to send word of a transfer. Two, none of those papers had a time frame on them.” With his hand folded back into a fist, he lowered it into his lap. “How long can I expect to stay here?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Do you even know?”

She lowered her eyes to the papers on her desk and said nothing for a long time. There was only the scratch of her nails against paper, and the rattle of the air conditioning unit. Outside, the mountains dripped with gold. A streak of white caught his eye out on the track.

“My sister’s probably sent dozens of letters,” he said, “With no response. They probably think I’m dead.”

“It’s easier that way,” Deschamps quipped. Straightening, she smiled widely, talked fast. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant to say is that the transition to a program like ours can be trying, and outside _distractions_ don’t allow inductees to reach peak potential—”

“My sister’s twelve.”

“I don’t understand—”

“She’s _twelve_. That’s too young to think your brother’s dead, isn’t it?”

He was getting a little manipulative, but he was desperate. Nothing made him happier than opening one of Frankie’s letters and being surprised when glitter or snacks or polaroids fell out. She wrote him every week, even though he couldn’t return them at the same pace. She was a better writer than he could ever hope to be, spinning tales that made him feel like he was back home. The thought of his sister writing letters in earnest, receiving nothing but silence in return, made his heart ache. She deserved to know that he was okay. _He_ deserved to know that they were okay, too.

Deschamps leaned back in her chair, eyes drawn elsewhere. Maybe she was thinking. Maybe she was bored of him.

“One letter,” he said, “Just to let her know I’m okay.”

“Out of the question.” Stern, swift, to the point. The rejection cut like a knife.

“You don’t understand.” Gabriel bit down on his tongue, hoping that pain would distract him from the tears threatening to prick at his eyes. It all came up in a surge, like the push and pull of water, like he was about to drown. “She was in the city when the strike came—she had to hide under a desk at school and wait for the bombs to stop falling.” Gabriel rolled his hands into tight, shaking fists. “She had to hear about the temp base from a police officer’s radio. Can you imagine what that’s like? She was only ten but she _knew_ I was there. No survivors.” Gabriel tore his eyes away from Deschamps’ cold gaze. “She thought I was dead and—I don’t want to put her through that again, okay? She’s just a kid.”

Deschamps rose from her desk and walked to the window, pulling up the blinds. “It’s a very strict policy, Mr. Reyes.”

“Sure. I get that. But—” His throat swelled shut, and just like that, he couldn’t say anymore even if he wanted to. Rising, he lifted a hand to collect the letters. He turned on his heel, letters held tight to his chest.

There wasn't anything he could say. Gabriel followed the streak of white out on the track. Morrison, of course. It was rec time and he was _still_ pushing himself.

Deschamps was watching him, too, at ease under the orange light.

With her back to the desk, Gabriel crept forward, peering down at the files she'd been studying when he came in. Morrison's picture was at the top of one of the sheets, half-obscured by that weeks roster. He'd placed fifth overall, while Morrison hovered above him at fourth. Olsen took lead, with Perrault and Khan behind. Their names were circled in red ink.

Promising.

Shifting a little on his feet, making enough noise to see if Deschamps would turn around, he slipped Morrison's file out from underneath the roster. Under his picture was his full name, date of birth—he'd be twenty-one, soon—was a note scrawled in red pen. _#A100, September 1st_.

It didn't mean anything to him. Sliding the file back, he cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. "So—"

"Oh?" Deschamps turned around, eyes bleary and distant. "My apologies, Mr. Reyes. You may go."

He bowed his head into a nod and didn't linger.

Gabriel kept his eyes trained on the track as he wound through empty halls. Morrison shined under the sun. The guy was _fast_ , making quick work of each lap. He threw himself into each stride, powerful legs carrying him forward.

Super soldier program, sure, but damn if Gabriel wasn't impressed.

Morrison passed by close to the building. A foot caught, and he went down fast and hard, kicking up dust. Gabriel froze mid-step, his breath stalled, watched as Farm Boy picked himself up and dusted dirt away from his shirt, his hair, his face.

Gabriel snuck out the closest door, letters shoved into his back pocket. Morrison was already starting up again, shoes padding hard against the ground, only to catch and stumble a dozen meters from where he'd fallen before. This time, Gabriel could hear a groan, followed by curses.

"I think you've pushed yourself enough for today," he called out. Gabriel kept himself from running. Morrison was fine, just exhausted.

Morrison pushed himself off the ground on his elbows. His forearms were sticky with sweat, and maybe it was a trick of the light, but Gabriel thought he saw blood. Coughing, Morrison scrambled for purchase. The muscles in his legs were shaking hard. Maybe they'd given out.

"You know, they call it rec time for a reason." Gabriel crouched down in the dirt beside him, one hand hesitant to touch his back. His white t-shirt was stained with grass and covered in dust and sweat. Not pretty at all. "You're still human, Jack. You need to ease up."

Morrison tipped his head. There was a small, weak smile there. "I _like_ running."

"Yeah, you sure look like you're having a hell of a time," Gabriel snorted. "I saw you face plant."

"It's not a big deal."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, resisted the urge to laugh. "You're not doing yourself any favors by risking an injury."

Morrison rolled onto his back. With his hands out behind him, he lifted his torso off the ground. "I'm not getting any better by sitting on my ass and watching TV movies, either."

"That's not exactly the point I was trying to make." Gabriel stood and offered Morrison a hand. "You got something to prove, that's fine. But you need to catch a break once in a while, too. Doesn't have to be movie nights."

Morrison took his hand. Gabriel hauled him to his feet, and couldn't help from smirking when he wavered to catch himself, legs shaking.

"You look like shit," he said, catching one arm under Morrison's shoulder. "One thing I don't get, Jack."

He started at a slow pace. Morrison dragged heavy on his shoulder. "What?"

"Who are you trying to impress?"

Morrison's mouth hardened into a line.

"C'mon, Jack. Fourth on the roster not good enough for you? You some kind of prima donna? In case you didn't notice, no one's watching."

Morrison stiffened. "You were."

"You trying to impress me?" Gabriel snorted. "If that's the case, Jack, you should spent less time on the track and more time in the weight room."

He pulled open the facility door and sighed when a cool blast of air conditioning rolled over his skin. "Can you feel your legs at all?"

"...No."

"Figured." Gabriel pulled the both of them onto the elevator. Morrison was heavy on his shoulder and smelled like he'd been run over by a lawnmower. "Die Hard's on tonight. And don't tell me you don't like Die Hard, because that's a damn lie."

He hauled Morrison past the dormitory hall, past the commons, and down to the door marked _76_. "Here." He opened the door with his foot and dropped Morrison unceremoniously on his bed. "Take a nap, Farm Boy. See you at nine?"

Morrison grumbled something that was muffled by the comforter. He was almost too tall for his bed. It was a little comical, but Gabriel held off on laughing at him.

There was nothing on the walls, which didn't come as a surprise.

He left Morrison alone with his misery and pulled Frankie's letters out of his pockets.

Maybe he couldn't send them, but he could _write_ them. Whether or not it would help remained to be seen.

Back in his dorm, Gabriel shouldered into his UCLA hoodie—it was snug in the shoulders, now—and sat down to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wouldn't exist without this song. It's awesome and you should listen to it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cno20onK9dY
> 
> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

_#A100, September 1st._

It could have meant anything, but Gabriel had the gnawing feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. He got two birds with one stone for his trouble. Olivia Deschamps would entertain him as she refused to look at his letters, and he had a few chances to sneak glances at the papers on her desk.

It probably had something to do with the injections, but when he caught a glimpse of code on one of the syringes, it didn’t match. He didn’t have the strength to ask Morrison if anything seemed off, partially because he didn’t want him to worry, and partially because he was convinced it was all in his head.

But when the day rolled around, and he found himself moving mechanically down a sun-soaked hall to Deschamp’s office, a new letter folded carefully in his hand, he couldn’t help but worry. That morning, she had a cup of tea ready, like he was a friendly neighbor and not a super soldier in the making.

“Good morning, Mr. Reyes. Let’s get this done, shall we? No. Now.” She leaned back in her chair, cup of tea held gracefully between her hands. Her hair was long and loose around her shoulders, and her lips were unpainted, leaving her looking more approachable than usual. “No issues with today’s injections?”

“No,” he said. Gabriel folded into the chair. Ignoring the dismissal, he pushed the letter across the desk. “Are you even going to read it?”

“You already know the answer. I like you, Mr. Reyes. You’re a good man, and you have a big heart. I can see how much your family means to you.” She paused, setting down her tea, gesturing to his untouched cup. “I can’t extend this privilege to you and no one else. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Has anyone else asked?”

“They signed off. As _you_ did. I’ll keep reminding you if I have to.”

“Please,” he said, “Take a look at it.”

Deschamps eyes sparked a little, like she was thinking of laughing at him. She turned around in her chair, eyes searching the field. The clock ticked to 1900h, and like clockwork, a flash of white passed the windows. Deschamps and Morrison were equally predictable, not that he could blame her for looking.

Gabriel moved fast to slip the papers from her desk. His file was on top of Morrison’s, and there was something written there. _Fit for—_

He shoved the papers back into place as Deschamps swiveled around, reaching for her cup of tea. “Tell you what, I’m in a good mood today. I’ll send correspondence.”

“You’ll—what?”

“I’ll send them a letter, telling them that you’re alive, and not to worry. Simple and to the point.”

Gabriel snorted. Deschamps wilted in her chair, smile quickly fading. “What?” she snapped.

“You really think any family who thinks their kid is dead wants to get a letter from the government?”

“I never—I didn’t consider that.” Clearing her throat, she reached for his letter and unfolded it. “As much as I like your company, Mr. Reyes, I am tired of arguing. I’ll take the case to the coordinator. Now, please. Go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Still no answers about what _#A100_ meant, but the possibility—slight as it was—of his sister getting that letter brought a smile to his face, and he didn’t bother to hide it as he opened the door to the track and called for Morrison to call it quits, already, he was making the rest of them look bad.

-

Nothing seemed different about him, which settled Gabriel's mind. September rolled past like a long exhale, the mountains slowly turning from lush green to yellow. The sun set earlier each day, leaving them out on the track after dark. Out on the track one evening, with gunmetal gray clouds overhead threatening rain, his friends excused themselves one by one. Morrison was called away by Deschamps. Alone, Gabriel circled the track.

Big drops of rain fell against his face. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It was hot and sticky out—a typical late-summer storm—and Gabriel's head was clear thanks to the noise. He'd been thinking too much about home, about the war looming over their heads. Some days he could swear he saw an Omnic recon buzz past like a hornet. His questions to Coordinator Castillo got no answers, and he relied on news reports for information. Not that those were much help, either; with the state of the war, half-truths were plentiful, trying to keep up hope.

The world needed heroes worse than ever. Brave as the American military was, the Omnics were ruthless.

Rain slicked down through his hair, down the collar of his shirt, soaking him through. Gabriel sloshed through puddles that appeared without warning on the track. The big, lazy drops gave way to sleeting torrents of warm summer rain.

It was hard to see the track through the rising mist. The potlights out on the field did little to guide him around the track. Muscle memory took care of it.

With a sigh, Gabriel admitted defeat, and looped back toward the building.

Instead of heading back to his dorm, however, he thought about the new pulse rifle prototypes they'd gotten in, and made for the cover of the range.

The new rifles were bigger but weighed less, and the recoil was easier on his shoulder. Still, the rapid spread gave him something to get used to. Gabriel threw open the door and breathed in the scent of gun oil. It was dry and cool inside.

The ping of pulse munitions ceased. Morrison looked up at him from one of the booths, eyes tinted silver behind plastic goggles.

"Hey," Gabriel called out.

Morrison watched him, still and silent, as Gabriel shucked off his soaked sweater and hung it to dry on a post. He didn't spend much time on the range. Field missions were enough for him. But the weight room would be packed thanks to the foul weather, and he needed something to do to fill the rest of the hour before he collapsed with his friends on the couch in the common room to watch one of Lewis' terrible romantic comedies.

"Uh—hey," Morrison returned. He worked his hands up to push the goggles off his face into scruffy, slightly damp hair.

Morrison looked _off_. Gabriel tried not to focus on it. The new rifles were pretty cool, and fit perfectly in his hands. He leveled the sights, clicked off the safety, and squeezed off four rounds into the target. The recoil pushed back against his shoulder, but it was just that. A push, like someone politely trying to get his attention.

Metal clanked against metal. Just Morrison putting his rifle back on the stand.

"Something bugging you, Blondie?"

Silence.

Maybe it was the light, but Morrison's skin looked too pale. Like maybe he was going to puke. Silvery eyes stayed locked on Gabriel, studying him. It was unnerving as hell. Gabriel lowered the rifle. “Jack, why are you looking at me like that?”

“It was raining,” Morrison said. His voice was small, the words distant. Eyes snapped up to the roof. His shoulders were shaking, maybe from the chill of the rain, maybe from a caffeine overdose.

“Raining?”

Morrison stared hard at the roof. Gabriel turned back to his rifle and squeezed off more rounds. Pulse munitions sounded good when they hit their targets. He would never be an expert marksman—he didn’t have the natural sense for it—but he was better than most, just needed training. Today wasn’t the day for it, though; Morrison was stiff as a board in the next booth, trembling slightly like he was cold.

“Hey, Jack?” Gabriel set the rifle back on the stand, set the safety, and stepped away. “You don’t look too good.”

Morrison’s mouth curved up at the corner, like he was thinking, but his eyes were hard, distant.

“Jack?”

Silvery eyes snapped to his, wide and eerie. “What are the chances, right?”

A shiver rolled up Gabriel’s spine. “What are you talking about?"

He watched Morrison's throat bob as he swallowed. A wry smile turned up on his mouth and disappeared just as quickly. "It's just us."

"Yeah. You and me."

He wanted to _talk_. Jack Morrison _wanted to talk_.

Morrison turned away, hands moving over the rifle like he wasn't sure what to do with it. Nails tapped against metal. Lip worried between his teeth, Morrison started talking. "The front line in Laredo is a disaster," he said. "There's a sea of people moving across the border at night. Americans heading south, thinking it's safer. Mexicans heading north, thinking if they can get past Texas they're home free." Morrison leaned against the booth, his eyes lowered, staring hard at the floor. "Refugees got too close to the fighting all the time. After sundown, we couldn't risk shooting at anything, just in case. Too many—too many civilian casualties."

He followed Morrison's eyes to the floor. It was tough to look at him, all pale, worried, distant.

"Omnics figured it out. Started blocking safe routes and funneling refugees through war zones so we couldn't fight efficiently." Morrison threaded a hand into his hair and flinched like he'd pressed a wound. Gabriel felt a sympathy pain roll through his nerves. "That's what I did. Worked behind the lines, clearing paths, trying to keep as many alive as possible, as long as possible."

Gabriel wanted to talk, to say something, but his mind was blank and useless. He stepped closer, reaching for Morrison's shoulder.

Morrison shivered under his touch. Eyes snapped open, staring straight ahead, down at the bullet-riddled target. "A few months ago I was stationed up river from the city. Omnics were making a big push into Texas from the south side of the city. I could see the mortar shells from the hill."

Gabriel swept his hand along the curve of Morrison's shoulder. He was hot as a furnace, but still shaking hard.

"It was exposed and everyone knew it but there was nothing we could do. Shortest route. I watched our troops throw themselves against the line and fall. Again. And again. And again." A breath rattled in Morrison's lungs. "One day the smoke cleared. It was so quiet, Gabriel. Do you remember how quiet it was in Los Angeles?"

The quiet, the shift and sigh of the wind in the gallery's walls, the even tempo of Morrison's shots—he still dreamed about it, sometimes. It had been quiet, almost peaceful, just for a second.

"I didn't see it right away. It was quiet, and then everyone was screaming, and then there was smoke and dust and I couldn't breathe. But I got up. I _had_ to." Morrison covered his mouth with a hand, like he was trying to keep the words in, or maybe because he was worried he'd cry. Gabriel smoothed his hand out, spreading fingers wide, pushing down with a little bit of pressure. Morrison shifted against his hand, moving closer, turning to face him. "I tried to get everyone to shelter, but—some of them—some of them were good as dead. Shredded, like—”

Morrison's throat bobbed. A small, pathetic sob shook his back. "Ground bastion units. Just six of them, like they knew we couldn't put up a good fight. Like we were just pests to be put down." Morrison's voice broke and grated against Gabriel's ears. "When it was over we were down six men and fifty civilians. Most of them were kids."

He could smell smoke, see it like it had happened to him. Fear and panic rose like bile in his stomach. "Jack..."

Gabriel couldn't think of what to say. His throat was sore and tight, like he'd been there with Morrison. His heart hammered in his chest. At least, Morrison wasn't crying, but—Gabriel couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward to sweep Morrison into his arms, smoothing hands down his friend’s warm, shaking back.

Morrison was still and stiff for a moment, before unfolding against his shoulder, chin digging into muscle. Weak fingers caught in Gabriel's shirt.

This was what war did to people. Morrison wasn't even twenty-one.

Rain beat against the gallery roof. He could feel the thudding of Morrison’s heart, rapid but falling fast. “Breathe,” he said. There was a chill to the air, and he was probably damp and cold from the rain, but Morrison didn’t try to move away. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

Morrison’s back moved with an inhale. Gabriel felt the rattle of it under his hands.

Blond hair shifted against his cheek. Without thinking Gabriel turned into him, one hand running up to the back of Morrison’s neck—God, his skin was so _warm_ —the other sweeping down his spine, light and gentle.

“Breathe,” he repeated. Morrison’s back moved again with a shuddering breath. “We’re safe, Jack.”

“You don’t know that.”

It was true, but Gabriel shook his head anyway, muttered, “I do know that. We’re survivors.”

“It’s just—I know it’s not going to happen. I _know_ it’s not.” Morrison pulled away from Gabriel’s shoulders, and he let his arms drop back to his sides. “I—” The walls slammed back up. Morrison’s eyes narrowed, turned back to mirrors, reflecting Gabriel’s anxieties. “I try not to think about the front.”

“Jack—”

Morrison turned away with an abrupt, awkward step. “We should, ah, probably get to the common room before Lewis gets mad.”

“Jack.”

Morrison stalled in front of the door.

Gabriel pulled his soaked sweater off the post and closed the space between them, one hand on Morrison’s shoulder. “I know you’re not much of a talker, Jack, but you know you can trust me, right? Especially with this shit—we were there _together_.” He paused, tongue working, mind roiling. “You aren’t alone.”

Morrison sighed. With the exhale, it was like a weight lifted of his shoulders, and a weak smile sprang to his face. “Does it get to you, too?”

“What happened in Los Angeles, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel settled with his shoulder against the door frame. Thunder rocked in the distance; he could feel it through concrete, rippling through his nerves. “I dream about it sometimes. It’s never the same, though.” Gabriel slipped his hands into his pockets. Morrison settled with his arms crossed, but his eyes were open and friendly. The walls were down again, at least for now. “It’s not an easy thing to forget, but—I guess I’ve always been good at taking the pieces and pulling them apart. Putting them somewhere that makes sense. Y’know?”

Morrison shook his head. Gabriel sighed, a smile warming his lips.

“Let’s get inside,” Gabriel said, “No point in waiting for the rain to stop.”

The gallery lights made a funny _pop_ sound, and then they were drenched in blackness as a thick peal of thunder rolled outside.

Gabriel felt Morrison’s hand on his in the dark.

They ran out into the rain, Gabriel’s sweater stretched over his head, Morrison knocking against his shoulder. Lightning tore across the sky, lighting the path to the facility door. They splashed through puddles and Morrison nearly slipped in the mud, catching himself on Gabriel’s arm.

They were completely soaked by the time they stepped into the pitch-black facility.

“Good news,” Gabriel huffed, “We don’t have to watch _The Notebook_.”

“Oh, thank _god_.”

-

Morrison disappeared at the same time every day to see Deschamps in her office. Olsen was convinced the two were having an affair, but Gabriel couldn’t get the red ink out of his head. His attempts to sneak glances at vials and files had all failed, leaving him with the option of breaking into her office after dark or flat out asking Morrison about it.

The latter was easier, but Gabriel couldn’t work up the nerve.

It was October. Wherever they were had real seasons, and it was cold and bitter outside, making their time out on the track miserable. Still no word from Deschamps on whether or not she’d ever mail one of his letters. Every evening she seemed more distant, like she’d freshly forgotten his requests as he slid letters across her desk.

He was called for an injection that night—a double-shot—and waited with Olsen in a horrid little room. He covered his nose, but nothing could keep out the reek of chlorine. Second injections weren’t really unusual. Sometimes it was a booster, sometimes it was serum, sometimes it was just an opportunity for a nurse to give you a check-over.

Olsen’s shoulder barely touched his. She was shaking so violently that her metal arm rattled against the chair. “Shit,” she growled between chattering teeth, “I hope to God this is a fluke. What are the chances they’ve just drawn us a nice, hot bath?”

“Not great, Tex.”

“I can’t believe this.” Olsen was wrapped up in every layer of clothing she owned, and could barely move to cross her legs. “You think we’ve been in Alaska this whole time?”

Gabriel’s arms were stiff and heavy, but he unfolded himself and worked an arm around her shoulders. Maybe it was a little awkward, but she sighed in contentment and leaned against him. “Don’t think about it too much. The cold.”

“What else am I supposed to think about?”

“I think about home,” Gabriel said, “About the beaches in LA. Long strips of sand so hot it burns your feet. Sunburns.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’d kill for a sunburn, right now.”

“This’ll pass. Then we’ll have fevers to complain about.”

Olsen’s chuckle had a nice warmth to it. “I ever tell you how much I like you, kid?”

“Every day.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

Gabriel snorted. “Twenty-three in a few months.”

“Shit.” A wide grin split Olsen’s face. “You should grow a beard. You’d look older, baby face.”

Gabriel knew for a fact that he did _not_ have a baby face, but he smiled and laughed anyway.

They called his number. He sat on a freezing metal table and didn’t offer resistance to what was now familiar. Wrists were strapped down. Without layers to protect him, he felt like a solid block of ice, and joked about it to the nurse.

Needles under his skin. The serum itched and quirked like something moving under his muscles. Fingers twitched without command. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that he’d black out. Instead, he squirmed on the table as the nurse put her needles away.

Gabriel put the shower on so hot that it burned his skin and steamed up the whole showers. No one was awake, anyway—it was the middle of the night—and only five of them had been called away from rec time for it. Khan had gone first, then Perrault, then Morrison.

Top five.

That didn’t make him feel any better. Gabriel shut off the water and ran for the warmth of his towels, a chill already working back into his bones. The feeling that his lungs were full of ice was gone, at least for the moment.

The steam left his clothes warm but slightly damp, but Gabriel found it hard to care as he got dressed, dried his hair with his towel, and left the showers.

He angled toward Deschamp’s office without thinking. It was about midnight. Cameras left a red glow wherever they looked, but Gabriel had a feeling no one bothered to watch the tapes. It had to be an awfully boring job, playing hall monitor.

Gabriel listened at her door for a long time, thinking it over in his head. _#A100_ could mean anything. It could be a code for hair dye, for all he knew, and Morrison was worried about his roots growing in. He tried the lock when he decided it was safe. Her office was cold and bare. Everything had been cleaned off her desk.

He slid open drawers one by one. Pens, post-it notes, paper clips. Nothing on the shelves. He felt underneath the desk for anything taped up out of view.

There was a blank pad of paper in one of the drawers. Gabriel pulled it free, remembering an old trick. He might not get anything out of it, but he rolled a pencil sideways across the sheets, hoping to pick up the impression of whatever she’d been writing that morning.

Bingo.

_Still no potential for leadership - needs work. Meeting again at usual time._

Gabriel snorted. Deschamps was about as far from a life coach as you could get. He caught a lot of numbers and a few more words, but nothing useful, and balled up the piece of paper. He dunked it in the bin on his way out. No point in sticking around and risking trouble. Not that anyone got punished at SEP. Everyone was pretty good at behaving, even without brass around to tell them what to do.

Which brought up his theories about SEP as a whole. He paused in the middle of the hall. He’d only been to Coordinator Castillo’s office once. His door was probably locked, but…Gabriel moved like a ghost, knowing fully well that it was a bad idea to snoop around a top-secret government facility in wartime. His insatiable curiosity had gotten him in trouble before, but nothing he couldn’t handle. This was something else.

The door was, as expected, locked. Gabriel glanced down the hall. There were a few more offices. When he glanced in the windows, they were empty. Weird.

He looped back down the hall. Serum rattled his head and kept him wide-eyed and awake. A chill gnawed at his bones. He’d pull on his hoodie and collapse into bed, safe and warm and happy, if he could manage not to think too much. Most of the mind-numbing freeze had eased off, at least, which meant he would probably be feverish and miserable in a few days.

Words echoed down the dormitory hall. Olsen’s voice, displeased. “…Let me help you, Blondie.”

Someone grumbled in response.

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile. He kept moving down the hall, focused on her voice. A door rolled open and Olsen tumbled out backwards, cussing under her breath, followed by Morrison. Both froze when they saw Gabriel.

“Everything okay here?”

“Shit, you’re up too, kid?” Olsen looked miserable in a pair of shorts and a loose tank top, which meant that her switch to burning-inferno-fever had been instant.

“Serum.”

“Duh.” Olsen nudged Morrison with an elbow, and Farm Boy grunted. “This asshole woke me up with his goddamn banshee screaming. I was almost asleep.”

Gabriel turned to Morrison. Deep shadows turned his glaring blue eyes into daggers. “Jack—”

Morrison shouldered past Olsen, bare feet slapping hard against the tile. Gabriel reached for his arm, but Morrison pulled away from his grasp. Once he was gone, he whipped around to Olsen, who didn’t look like she’d been causing trouble, on purpose, at least.

“Did you say something to piss him off?”

Olsen leaned back against the door frame and sighed. “I don’t get what his problem is,” she whined, “Does he not like me or something?”

“We all love you, Tex.” Gabriel walked up to her, smoothing his hands across her shoulders. “You look like you could use an ice bath.”

“Fuck.” Olsen dropped her face into her hands. “I’m really worried, kid. You didn’t hear it? I thought he was dying.”

“What—Jack?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Olsen snarled. “You’re the only person he talks to.”

“That’s not true.”

“Okay. You’re the only person he _talks_ to.” Olsen straightened, her mouth worried into a frown. She was trembling slightly, beads of sweat rolling down her brow. She shifted on the balls of her feet, eyes avoiding his. “And maybe I tolerated him at first just because he was your friend, but he grew on me, okay? Like a handsome fungus.” She snorted. “But he sure can be a dick. You gonna check on him or shall I?”

Gabriel glanced down the hall. He could guess where Morrison had gone. “Yeah. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“When you’re done, if you feel like it, bring me some tea,” Olsen grumbled, “Iced.”

“You got it, Tex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence, no gore/death  
> If you have any questions or concerns regarding this chapter, send me a note at anna-droid.tumblr.com

Gabriel palmed open the gym door and squinted into the gloom. It was mostly overcast, but thin strips of moonlight swept over the floor and equipment intermittently. Morrison hadn’t bothered to hit the lights.

He paused in the doorway, listening hard for Morrison’s breaths, or footsteps, feeling for a presence. Eyes searched the dark. Morrison was standing so still—so rigid—that Gabriel had to look twice.

Morrison was facing the wall, one hand held out to brace himself, the other rolled into a fist at his side. The moon slid back behind clouds, and Gabriel lost his friend in the shadows.

“Jack?”

“Who’s there?” Movement—the rustle of clothes, feet slapping against the floor.

Gabriel moved through the dark, begging for his eyes to adjust before he nailed a toe on an elliptical or a weight rack. “It’s just me. You feeling alright? Serum getting to you?”

Light rolled through the windows. Morrison was a few paces away, half bowed over, one arm working at the back of his neck. Curses hissed from between his teeth. His pupils were mere pinpricks despite the low light. “I’m used to it.”

“You okay?”

Morrison shook his head _no_. Gabriel closed the space between them and pressed the back of his hand to Morrison’s forehead. Farm Boy hissed at the touch.

“You’re running a little hot,” he said, “Tex told me—” Morrison coiled away from his touch. Gabriel sighed, letting his hand drop. “—You want to talk about it?”

“No.” Morrison moved away, but his feet seemed uncoordinated, and he nearly tripped in the process. Muscles flexed in his strong jaw, like he was biting down on his tongue. Gabriel’s eyes fell to Morrison’s hands. Curled up in fists so tight his knuckles were white. Without warning Morrison wheeled around and slammed his fist into the wall with such force that Gabriel felt adrenaline spike under his skin. “I’m not interested in talking.”

“Jack, come on—”

Morrison moved to throw a second blow at the wall. Gabriel caught his wrist before it could make contact. “Serum’s got you wound up. If you don’t want to _talk—_ Gabriel racked his mind for an answer. “—You want to punch things.”

It was a bad idea. Not like they didn’t throw down everyday, but never after injections, never when one of them was wound up like this. Maybe it would help, though.

“There are better ways to get that anger out,” he said. _Crap_. Gabriel talked fast to smooth over any implications. “I always feel better after you kick my ass. You in?”

Morrison stopped pulling against his grip and went limp. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m in.”

Gabriel slipped into a simple focus the moment his feet touched the mat. Easy to forget about injections and the front lines when your whole body was riddled with sweat and adrenaline. Morrison circled him, his steps uneven, wearing a wavering expression. One moment he was neutral, the next his features were contorted like he was in pain. Neither of them moved to make the first strike. Gabriel waited for Morrison to throw the first strike, to set the tone.

It was probably a bad idea. There were punching bags strung up in the gym for a reason.

Morrison moved quick and palmed for Gabriel’s sweater. Fingers barely scraped his chest before he sprang away.

“Whatever you’ve got, I can take it,” Gabriel said. “Don’t go easy on me just because I’m ranked below you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, California,” Morrison huffed.

The blow that followed his words hit as hard as his promise. Gabriel folded over to defend his ribs, and an elbow came down on the back of his neck. He grappled for Morrison’s arms. A knee swung up into his sternum.

“Geez, Jack, maybe slow down a bit,” Gabriel groaned. God, his strikes were _perfect_ , even as he drew back and wavered on his feet like a drunk. They’d thrown down that morning, and Gabriel knew just how swift and precise Morrison could be, with the kind of reflexes that were built young and prime with years of experience. Gabriel figured Farm Boy had gotten into lots of fights as a kid, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the thoughts while on the receiving end of Morrison’s fists.

He moved to grab Morrison’s shoulder. In a blink, there was an elbow in his ribs, and then a fist buried in his stomach. Morrison’s foot caught his and tripped him. He rolled free of Morrison’s knee and twisted up to grab at his waist, throwing them both down on the mat together.

Gabriel needed a lot more practice at hand-to-hand before he could call himself good. He managed to squeeze in a few strikes, keeping Morrison down. He had the advantage of weight and muscle, but not much else. Thighs wrapped around his waist and with a grunt Morrison flipped him over and onto his back.

Fuck, that hurt, but he smiled anyway. “Nice move.” He threw out a hand to catch one of Morrison’s fists. “Feeling better yet?”

Beads of sweat rolled down Morrison’s forehead. His fist shook in Gabriel’s grip.

“Hey, Jack,” Gabriel pushed, “Talk to me.”

Something wasn’t right about Morrison’s eyes. He was looking right at him, but he _wasn’t_. Morrison’s hand slipped over Gabriel’s wrist and forced his whole arm to the mat. Gabriel didn’t have time to think before a fist slammed into his stomach.

“Cheap shot,” he grunted.

Gabriel threw his weight and pitched Morrison off. He grabbed for his shoulders and pinned him down, panting hard to catch his breath. God, his body already ached with the shots his friend had taken, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t exhausted. Morrison went stiff and straight as a board underneath him.

He pressed his thumbs to Morrison’s collarbone. “Hey, Jack. What’s wrong?”

Morrison bucked up underneath him. Gabriel toppled backwards, and then Morrison was on him, pushing him hard against the mat. He spat out a string of curses and curled to the side as a fist slammed into the mat where his face had been a second ago. None of it felt right anymore. None of it felt _normal_. Morrison never fought like this with anyone; he was bullheaded as hell, but when it came to spars he sized up his opponents, watching and waiting before trading blows. This was raw and messy and—Gabriel let the thought break as he defended against another blow with his forearm. Shit, he was going to be bruised in the morning.

Morrison pulled an arm back, and Gabriel captured the opening. He snapped up and dug and elbow into his stomach while reaching out for Morrison’s wrist. His skin was blazing hot and damp with sweat.

“Ease up, Jack—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Blue eyes snapped wide. Fear curled up in Gabriel’s gut and rolled through his nerves when Morrison snarled and pitched forward. Gabriel’s arm folded the wrong way underneath him, and he yelped out in pain, but Morrison didn’t ease up. Somehow Morrison managed to work his wrist free and a fist flashed against his cheek, rattling his jaw.

His stomach didn’t feel right. Shit, his heart was pounding, and he couldn’t hear anything but the rattle of Morrison’s breaths and the rush of blood in his ears. A shaking fist flew toward his face again. Gabriel caught it. “Jack—I can’t—”

A palm slammed against his throat. Gabriel choked and sputtered on the words. Morrison set pressure on his windpipe, and he struggled to breath, struggled to catch fingers in Morrison’s shirt.

“Jack,” he wheezed, “Jack!”

Morrison’s eyes snapped like a camera lens, clear and focused. The hand disappeared and Morrison sat back, panting hard.

His neutral expression shifted and twisted in the dark. Teeth glinted like glaciers. Beads of sweat trailed down his forehead, but he was shaking like he was cold. Morrison hid his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking hard, but he wasn’t crying. Gabriel wasn’t sure he knew how.

He set his weight on his hands and dragged himself from underneath Morrison. Distance made it easier to breathe. He could still feel phantom fingers around his throat. God, not that it had actually _hurt_ , really—it just managed to scare the fucking daylights out of him. “Don’t—” Gabriel coughed hard, trying to clear his throat, to force what he wanted to say out, even if Morrison already looked miserable. “Don’t you ever—”

Morrison’s hands fell away from his face. Wide, terrified eyes, like a deer in headlights, caught him, paralyzed him.

“What the _hell_ , Jack?” He managed. Gabriel scrambled against the mat and lifted himself on trembling legs. Maybe it was a side effect of the serum working through his system, but he felt like every muscle in his body was alert and shaking. He got scared, sure, but not like _this_. Not since—

But the person shivering on the mat in front of him had only one thing in common with the person who’d gotten his cousin killed. Light skin. That was where the similarities ended.

Swallowing his nerves, Gabriel offered a hand to Morrison and pulled him to his feet. Together they wavered on unsteady legs. Morrison was still panting for breath, like he’d just run a marathon. He looked like shit. Gabriel didn’t feel much different.

“Jack,” he said, “Does anybody know?”

Morrison pulled away from his hand, taking a few unsteady steps toward the door. Hands moved up to work through his blond hair, white in the dim light. A groan rolled from Morrison’s throat, broken by a sob, and he collapsed to his knees before he could make it out of the gym.

Gabriel knelt down by his side, one hand hovering over his shoulder.

_Don’t touch me._

He let his hand drop back to rest on his thigh. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Nothing more, nothing less, just getting oxygen into his system. Slowly his heart rate fell, and the feeling that he was going to puke subsided until he was left empty, nothing but a dull ache under his skin. He waited, hoping Morrison would speak, but the man in front of him was doubled over, sucking breaths between his teeth like he was trying to keep himself from crying.

“Gabriel—”

“What do you need, Jack?”

Morrison twisted around and reached for him. White-knuckled hands curled in his sweater, pulled him closer. Bright eyes, silvery in the dark, stared hard at him. They were wide, terrified, his pupils mere pinpricks. Morrison panted for breath. Puffs of air grazed against Gabriel’s cheek.

“Something’s wrong,” Jack whined, lips pulling back to bare teeth. “It’s never like this—not like—”

Gabriel pressed a hand to Morrison’s forehead. Still hot, still damp with sweat. He touched the back of his neck, but it was the same temperature. The hands in his sweater tightened their grip. Gabriel swept a hand down Morrison’s back, if only to calm him, and was about to remind him to breathe when he felt the slam of a heartbeat.

That wasn’t right.

Gabriel pushed Morrison back a little bit, far enough for him to flatten a palm against his chest. His heart slammed hard and fast, beating like it had jumper cables clamped onto it. Rapid. Accelerating.

Fear hit him like electricity. Gabriel forked an arm under Morrison’s knees and swept him up in his arms. No time for talking, no time for pretense—this wasn’t normal, and Gabriel wasn’t about to take chances with his best friend’s life.

He bolted out of the gym, bare feet loud against the floor.

“Talk to me, Jack,” Gabriel huffed, “Keep talking.”

No response. He glanced down at Morrison’s face, cool and peaceful in the dim light, beads of sweat sliding back into his hair. Eyes open but glazed over, distant. Still breathing, at least.

-

He was ushered out of the exam room by three nurses, who watched to make sure he sat still on a cold metal chair in the hall.

Gabriel leaned over to put his head between his knees, hands worked into his hair, sucking in deep breaths that rattled in his constricted throat. They talked like he wasn’t there. His favorite nurse was off-duty, and no one was awake to know what had happened, let alone sit beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. God, he’d give anything for it.

Closing his eyes, he pictured home, the smells of his mother’s cooking, Frankie and Bianca’s laughter, the sound of the Lakers game in the background.

He smoothed hands from his hair over his shoulders and curled fingers in his cotton sweater. Part of him wanted to cry. Part of him wanted to laugh. What could all this be, if not a joke? Maybe he was dreaming, but the slam of his heart in his chest made it painfully obvious that this was  _real_. 

He sat for what felt like hours until the door clicked open. Dr. Hale emerged from Morrison’s room. Gabriel’s throat squeezed tight at the sight of the tall, ghostly doctor, but a smile eased his nerves.

“Seventy-six is doing fine.”

“Jack.”

Dr. Hale pursed his mouth, eyes distant and foggy. “He’s asleep, but—”

Gabriel leapt out of his chair and moved past the doctor.

Morrison looked like a mannequin someone had tucked neatly into bed. A cluster of diodes were scattered over his forehead and bare chest. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful. Gabriel rushed to his side, feeling for his hand, hoping to God that Morrison’s fingers would tighten around his. “Jack,” he whispered, “Thank God you’re okay, Jack—”

The same trio of nurses who’d watched over him in the hall poured into the room and dragged him back out, but not without a struggle on his end.

-

Gabriel slept in the hall outside the med ward that night, propped up against the wall, and was sore as hell when dawn broke and burned against his eyelids. He moved slowly, mechanically. The med ward doors were locked. No sign of staff. Gabriel accepted that he’d just have to wait and dragged himself to the showers, and then back to his dorm for a change of clothes. Olsen and Kowalski were sitting in the common room when he came out, sleepy-eyed, braiding each others hair. Olsen waved him over and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“So, what’s the deal?”

Gabriel plunked down on the couch by her feet and let his head roll back. “He’s in the ward.”

“What? Why?”

Gabriel fell onto her shoulder, needing the contact, and Olsen tied off Kowalski’s braid so she could put an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, Freckles, meet me downstairs?”

“Whatever. I’ll get Lewis.”

Alone, Olsen pulled him closer. He listened to the steady rhythm of her heart, her breathing. “I felt like hell last night. You too?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “God, I was right to worry, wasn’t I? Blood-chilling, man. The screaming.”

He’d almost forgotten. Gabriel closed his eyes. “Yeah."

Olsen's arms tightened around him. Gabriel pressed into the embrace. There was a deep feeling of emptiness in his chest, like he'd been mined out, and all he was left with was a chill in his bones and a tight, aching throat. Olsen leaned back and combed fingers through his hair, like she knew that his mother used to do just that for him when he came home with a bad grade. He could smell chlorine on his clothes, could still feel Morrison's hot, clammy skin under his hand. His heart kicked up in his chest, breaking the hollow feeling in half.

"C'mon, kid. It'll be okay." Olsen dropped her voice to a muted whisper, soft and serene. "He's a tough son of a bitch. I know it's hard to see someone you care about like that, but—"

"Something happened to him," Gabriel croaked, "Like he was having a heart attack."

Olsen went still underneath him. Fingers paused against his scalp. "I'll go give that motherfucking doctor of his a talking-to myself—"

Imagining Olsen barreling into the wards, flinging exam tables and threatening doctors was a little funny, and Gabriel chuckled into her shoulder.

Olsen resumed running her fingers into his hair, humming contentedly. "Yeah, I guess that's not a good idea. You think you can eat?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, kid. Let's go for breakfast and see if we can get into the ward, yeah?"

-

The mess hall was half-empty, even though they were a few minutes late. The doctor's table boasted only a single labcoat.

"Huh," Olsen muttered, "That's not right."

"No," he agreed. He tried not to think about it while he fetched his breakfast. Nothing looked particularly appetizing, but Olsen insisted that he eat something more substantial than coffee. The servers couldn't answer where the missing staff and subjects were. It left Gabriel with a bad taste in his mouth. Only five of them had gone for second injections, which meant that it couldn't be the reason for the empty tables.

“Did we miss the bus or something?” Olsen laughed a little under her breath and knocked his shoulder with a light fist. She sat down close to his side, brushing shoulders, but didn’t push for answers. Gabriel appreciated it, that was for sure.

He picked half-heartedly at his orange. The smell just made him think of Morrison.

They struggled through the rest of their breakfast, and were adamantly refused access to the wards. Gabriel dragged Olsen down to Deschamps' office. The door was closed and locked. He listened there for a few moments before Olsen pulled him away.

Everything was canceled for the day, and no explanations were given. They met Kowalski, Carson, and Lewis out on the field.

Grass scratched under his collar. A cold breeze shifted over his skin. Gabriel was freezing, but he didn’t have the energy to complain. He listened to Kowalski and Lewis’s idle chatter as they played a card game, and tried to pull his mind away from thoughts of the med ward.

He’d be okay. He had to be okay.

“You’re stuck in your head again.”

He felt Olsen’s fingers in his ribs. He was ticklish as hell, but it was like his body was too distant to form a physical response.

He’d tucked another orange in his pocket. He pricked his nails into the peel for something to do, eyes searching the sky. Clean, endless blue, like the color of Morrison’s eyes. It made sense. They were somewhere in the Midwest and the scenery matched him, cornsilk blond hair and all.

“Hey.” Olsen rolled onto her side and sighed softly, reaching to sweep fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you use that university education to tell me where you think everyone’s gone?”

“I’m not in the mood, Tex.”

She patted her palm over his head. “I’m really sorry, kid. You want some time alone?”

He didn’t have the heart to say yes, so he just nodded, and Olsen got up and left without another word to fold into Carson’s arms, her chatter picking up like the distant drumming of rain.

Gabriel lightly touched his throat. Part of him was still angry. Most of him was just confused.

That night in the gallery, he’d seen a side of Morrison he’d caught a glance of before, years back in Los Angeles, when he woke in a panic, eyes like mirrors.

The war wasn’t to blame.

Gabriel closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. In and out, nothing more.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Time made the gnawing unease in his stomach _worse_. Under an orange glow he picked at his dinner, eyes searching the half-empty mess hall for answers. He hadn’t seen Dr. Hale or his nurse since the night before, and they were the only staff who might entertain his questions.

Olsen was watching him like a hawk. Just concern, but Gabriel didn’t like it, didn’t like feeling like _he_ was the one they should be worried about. It was like Kowalski and Lewis hadn’t even noticed that Morrison was missing, and Carson was unwilling to say anything.

The speakers flared to life. Only then did Gabriel realize that the facility had been quiet the whole day.

“Shit,” Olsen growled, “Thought they were gonna spare us. Guess good things can’t last forever, huh?”

It was that song he _loathed_ but Morrison hummed under his breath out on the track.

It knocked the breath right out of him and welled up deep in his chest. _God_ , he’d do anything to go home, to sit in front of a game surrounded by his sisters, Morrison safe and happy at his side—

Except that wasn’t right.

Gabriel dropped his head into his hands and doubled over, running fingers into his hair. His stomach heaved like he was going to be sick, but his throat was dry and clamped shut. A sob threatened to roll free. Tears stung at his eyes.

Something warm brushed against his back.

“…Are you okay?”

Gabriel twisted so fast that he pulled a muscle in his neck. Pain twinged through the muscle, but who cared, when Morrison was standing in front of him, pale and a little weary but alive and smiling down at him? Gabriel blinked hard, but his thoughts were hopelessly scattered.

He jumped off the bench and tackled Morrison into a bone-crushing hug, arms tight around his back. "Jack," he said, "Thank God you're alright, Jack—you _are_ feeling better, right?" Gabriel pushed away, a hand on either of Morrison's shoulders, searching his expression.

His hair was flat and lifeless, flopped down over his forehead, and there were deep-set circles under his eyes. But what mattered was that there was a spark in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

"I'm okay," Morrison sighed, "You don't need to—"

Gabriel cut him off when he moved in for another hug, unable to keep the compulsion in check. They were standing in the middle of the mess hall, but there was almost no one there, and Gabriel found it hard to care that someone might be watching. Spreading his hands out across Morrison's back, he relaxed bit by bit until he was sinking onto his friend's shoulder, his cheek against the heat of Morrison's neck.

God, he hadn't realized how much he needed the contact, the grounding, and Gabriel could _feel_ his anxieties melt away. Awkward hands patted his back before they settled. Morrison wasn't an affectionate guy, not like him, and he could have stayed there with his friend in his arms for _hours_ , but slowly let him go.

"Sorry," Gabriel said, drawing back, "I just—I was worried sick about you, man. You feeling okay? I bet you're starving." Gabriel could feel Olsen's eyes on his back like little daggers and pointedly ignored her as he reached for Morrison's arm to lead him toward the cafeteria. "Let's get you something to eat. You want a coffee? Or...."

Morrison's smile was weak, but it made Gabriel's throat squeeze. "I thought you'd be mad at me."

"It's not your fault you landed in the wards," Gabriel said, his grip on Morrison's arm faltering. Upset, confused, worried as all hell, but why would he be mad? Unless Morrison wasn't talking about his trip to the med ward at all.

Gabriel chewed on the inside of his lip, trying to find the words. "Let's get you something to eat first. We can talk after, yeah?"

"Yeah. Sure."

The servers eyed Morrison like he'd done something wrong, which meant they knew more than they let on, but as soon as he got out of Farm Boy's earshot to ask, they refused to give answers. Usually gossip was shared while food was loaded onto trays, which meant something was up. Gabriel's mind churned as he gave up to follow Morrison down the aisle, probably being more annoying than helpful as he fetched food for his friend and kept asking _you okay_?

Morrison kept putting food back and refusing the servers.

"You've got to eat something," Gabriel said.

Morrison's eyes flicked over the array of food. "I'm not sure I can keep anything down."

"You were sick?" Gabriel pulled the tray out from Morrison's hands, ignoring the dirty look he got for it. He piled oranges, toast, and a banana on the tray, then set about pouring his coffee. "You take it black, right?"

"Gabriel—"

He pushed the tray into Morrison's hands. Farm Boy didn't take it right away. He was staring hard at Gabriel, his eyes glinting like mirrors again, trying to crack through his skull.

He saw himself in Morrison's eyes, exhausted and weary, with worry written in the bags under his eyes. He smiled, if only for his own benefit. "You don't have to eat it. You want to go back to the dorms?"

He sounded like a goddamn nurse in an old age home. Morrison rolled his eyes, scoffed, and took the tray, but there was a small smile there.

They plopped down at their table. Kowalski got up to give Morrison a hug, which meant that Olsen had explained his absence. She patted him on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Morrison worked half-heartedly at the peel on the orange. Gabriel tried to focus on the rest of his dinner, but caught himself sneaking glances at his friend.

He looked terrible.

A light tremble moved his hands as he tried to lift his coffee. His skin had a grayish pallor to it, like he'd been drained, or like he hadn't slept in a week.

He kept his mouth shut, though, until they were shooed out of the mess hall. Morrison moved toward the grounds. Gabriel stepped quickly to intercept his path. “Are you serious?”

“What?” Morrison almost walked into him and stopped cold, eyes focusing hard.

Morrison tried to walk around him. Gabriel blocked his path. “You’re not going running.”

“I _am_ ,” Morrison said, a smile turning up at the corner of his mouth.

Gabriel hadn’t missed how handsome Morrison was, but something about the way the fading light hit his cheekbones and spread against his hair made his breath catch in his throat. His freckles had faded with the loss of the summer sun, but a few still brushed over the bridge of his nose. Gabriel scrambled for a smart retort and came up blank, and focused instead on a bright blue eye, pupil narrowed by the light, almost white. Even with the deep circles under his eyes, even with the pallor of his skin, even with the way his shoulder shook like he was cold—Gabriel had to think of something else, anything else, but how could he think straight with that wonderful lopsided smile on Morrison’s face?

Morrison sauntered past him to the door. Gabriel followed, numb.

The second running shoes hit the track Morrison was back to his normal self, though he kept his pace slow at Gabriel’s insistence. Leaves crunched under his feet as they rounded the track, Gabriel trying not to be obvious that he was watching Morrison, wary of whatever the feeling that curled in his chest was.

He talked between breaths to distract himself. “You ever wonder about why they put up walls and never bothered to post guards?”

“We’re not in prison.”

“But there’s still a wall. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Who’re they keeping out?”

Couldn’t be for Omnics, at least. They airdropped ground units.

“Bears, maybe.”

Gabriel choked on a breath, laughing. “Yeah, bears versus super soldiers. Hey, what state do you think we’re in, anyway?”

“Oh, Missouri.”

“Stop fuckin’ with me.”

“No—I mean we’re in Missouri. In the Ozarks. I came here once, when I was a kid.”

“Oh.”

Morrison slowed a bit, and Gabriel eased his pace into a light jog. “It’s a perfect place for something like this. Remote. Used to be an Omnium in St. Louis, but they dismantled it before the Crisis.”

“Lucky.”

“Yeah. Clear skies.”

Morrison slowed to a walk, shoes scuffing against the path. “We should talk.”

He kept his eyes down, inspecting his shoes, and ran a hand over the back of his neck. Nails edged against his hairline. The action didn’t make him feel more at ease, though. He wasn’t interested in meaningless small talk and dancing around the issue, but at the same time, how could he explain to Morrison why he was so upset? That he wasn’t angry, exactly, but still nervous and unsure?

He was getting stuck in his head again. He felt fingers on his arm, nails edging through his sweater. “I should have said something sooner.”

Something in Morrison’s voice was off, but Gabriel couldn’t put his thumb on it. He was easier to read with each passing day, but Gabriel would be lying if he said he could get inside that head just yet. He had pieces but no order, and no guts to ask, no guts to talk.

“Gabriel.”

He lifted his chin, but couldn’t stomach Morrison’s sky-blue eyes longer than a second. “I was worried sick about you, Jack.”

“I know—I’m sorry—”

“Why are you apologizing?” Gabriel lifted a brow, his curiosity overwhelming. “You didn’t chose to take a trip to the med ward.”

“I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“My feelings are just that. Mine.” Gabriel turned to Morrison but looked past him, out over the ridge of mountains. “Listen, Jack. You’re not responsible for what happened.”

Morrison folded down in the grass by the edge of the path and kicked out his legs. He idly stretched, then sat back on his hands, eyes turned toward the walls and the peaks of trees on the mountain ridge. Blond hair shifted in the cool breeze and caught the light.

Gabriel mirrored his movements without meaning to. The ground was cold and hard under him.

“No. I am.” Morrison let his hands slide out until he was laying down in the grass. Maybe he was more exhausted than he let on. “All I had to do was talk. Ask for help. And—it’s never been easy for me, not since—” Morrison stalled, teeth catching his bottom lip. “—I just wanted to be left alone.”

“You mean last night?”

“No, I mean—before. Before I met you.”

Gabriel propped his chin up in one hand. “Before basic.”

Morrison picked at the grass. “I never really thought about it, until it got worse. After the attack.” Blue eyes slid closed and opened again in a long blink. “It’s still not easy to talk about. But—I should have just told you. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have the opportunity. Maybe if I had, this never would have happened.”

Gabriel wasn’t exactly sure what Morrison meant, and must have looked skeptical, because his friend worried his mouth into a frown and kept talking, like it made it easier. “I put my hand around your throat.”

The statement fell in between them and sat there, as cold and deadly as a knife, for so long that Gabriel could feel his body start to shake from the cold.

Morrison lifted his hands to put fingers through his hair. “I got scared, and—you weren’t you anymore. Dr. Ashhad said that happens, sometimes, that maybe because I was sick things were worse.”

“Jack—”

“I still hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I did.” Morrison pulled himself to a sitting position, head tipped toward him, eyes intense. “How can I make it right?”

Gabriel touched his neck. There was no bruise, no reminder.

“Just _talk_ to me, Jack. And don’t ever do it again.”

Morrison flinched at his words. “Okay. I will. I’ll try.”

He couldn’t ask for anything more. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Feel like a few more laps?”

He didn’t, but he fell into pace behind Morrison like it was a normal day. Gabriel was shocked cold, and each breath shivered in his lungs.

Morrison pushed himself past just a few laps to a few dozen, and Gabriel followed. Routine made everything easier, but his head was still tangled with thoughts.

Gabriel fell a few meters behind Morrison and was panting by the time he slowed for the last dash of the track. Morrison was shaking hard. For a second Gabriel thought he was crying, but his face was dry. Just the cold.

“You’re gonna freeze your ass off,” Gabriel chided, “Where’s your sweater?”

“I’m fine,” Morrison groaned. Clearly, he wasn’t. He seemed even paler, but he was flushed and sweating.

“We just talked about this.”

Morrison’s mouth open to let out a short, awkward laugh. “I’m fine.”

“Would you quit the act? You need to go the ward?”

Morrison shook his head. Limp blond hair swung across his forehead. “No.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jack.”

He reached for the hem of his sweater. Morrison watched him with a tight expression, bewildered and confused. “What’re you—”

He tugged off his sweater and shoved it onto Morrison's head. Blond hair popped through the neck, followed by owlish blue eyes, before Morrison’s limbs jerked to fight back.

“I’m keeping you warm,” Gabriel growled, “And taking you to the ward. You look like shit.”

Morrison offered weak flinches as Gabriel wrestled the sweater down over his shoulders, pulling limbs through sleeves. The sweater was a size or two too big.

“How did you survive weather like this, anyway?”

“It’s actually really nice out,” Morrison said, teeth chattering. “My mom…she used to knit wool sweaters. A new one for every school year.” A warm smile rose to his mouth. “There’s a name for the patterns. My Grandma taught her. They used to sit in front of the front window and knit together, and I’d sit on the floor between them, just, I don’t know. Listening.”

“You keep any of them?”

Morrison laughed. “Ah, no. They’re too small now. I was just a kid.”

He looked happy despite everything, and Gabriel found himself smiling. “C’mon.”

He marched Morrison inside before he could take off around the track again.

“Gabriel.”

“Yeah?”

Morrison angled away from the med ward, back toward the dorms. “It was kinda a long day. I may have pushed it a little…I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”

Gabriel paused. The med wards were probably full of sick inductees, anyway, and really Morrison looked fine, just a little clammy, like he had a fever.

“Fine,” Gabriel grunted, “Showers.”

He followed Morrison down the hall.

Farm Boy kept jerking his chin around to look at him. Finally, Gabriel hissed, “What?”

“Nothing.”

He hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going at all. He couldn’t hear any off-key singing from within the showers. Where the hell was everyone?

He shrugged it off and palmed open the door. Gabriel was freezing cold, and the idea of warm water on his skin made him rush to pull off his clothes. Morrison lingered a few steps away from the bench where he sat, his eyes back to mirrors.

“Something wrong, Jack?”

Morrison shook his head and disappeared behind a row of lockers.

Gabriel grabbed his towels and flung them onto a peg before reaching for the tap. He waited until steam was rolling from the tap before stepping under the stream. Closing his eyes, he let himself sigh. He hadn’t realized just how sore he was from a night spent sleeping on the floor.

He could have fallen asleep under the spray. Snapping to attention, he washed his hair, rinsed, and dove for his towels. Plopping down on the bench, he glanced around for Morrison.

Easy to find. He was on the other side of the bathroom, shaking under the spray of water, or maybe that was his imagination.

He made a point of trying not to stare, but his mind kept circling back to _what if he passes out and hits his head? What if he slips?_ Worry kept his eyes flicking from the gray wall of lockers to Morrison. Water streamed over sloped shoulders. He had a dust of freckles on his shoulder blades. Huh.

Gabriel tore his eyes away when he felt his eyes wandering lower. _No_. He was _not_ going to entertain the compulsion. He threaded his fingers together and set his forehead against them, inspecting the tile grout instead. It wasn't nearly as nice to look at.

He couldn't figure when things had changed, or if he'd just been blind to the strange feeling that rose in his chest with a vice grip around his lungs, cutting off his breath. Part of him had liked Morrison right from the beginning. Why else would he have entertained the notion of following the guy down a quiet Los Angeles street? But that had just been a mix of friendliness and curiosity, right?

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel his skin getting hot. Morrison was a friend. He'd ruined friendships with feelings before, and wasn't interested in repeating those mistakes.

He lifted his head, eyes dragging back to Morrison.

And Morrison was looking right back at him.

A bolt of panic raced through Gabriel's nerves. He jerked his chin away to break contact, but could feel Morrison's eyes on him, drilling into his skull.

Gabriel grabbed his clothes and walked down the aisle of lockers, out of sight, before he started pulling on layers. Great, he'd been caught looking, except he hadn't been looking at all and God—that just made the whole situation worse.

He skipped out as quickly as he could, the neck of his shirt caught on his head. The common room was deserted. Where the hell was everyone? It was just past sundown, no way his friends were asleep. Probably in the gym. Hopefully not in the wards.

He plunked down on the couch and reached for the control, hoping to god that something good was on, but the movie choices were the usual terrible options that no one except Lewis enjoyed. He needed something to pound the thoughts of Morrison out of his head. Morrison in the light of the setting sun, freckles like embers across his nose, blue eye turned white; Morrison under the shower, water rolling down a strong back. He could feel the phantom touch of Morrison in his arms, smell the tang of oranges—

And he needed the distraction, badly.

He selected _Top Gun_ from the list. Terrible. Cheesy. Vapid. Perfect.

The couch moved. Gabriel was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard Morrison come up behind him. "Oh," he muttered, "Hey."

Perfect. Ease the tension by acting weird as hell.

Morrison settled back onto the couch. He was still wearing Gabriel's sweater, but his shoulders weren't shaking like he was cold. "Hey," he returned. "I love this movie."

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding."

"What?" Morrison cocked a brow, but there was a smile on his mouth, like he knew just how ridiculous the movie was. "Don't look so disappointed."

"All this time I thought you were hiding a personality, Jack, but it turns out you don't have one."

Morrison scrunched up his mouth at one side, like he was ready to snap a retort, but instead a laugh puffed out of his mouth and a fist bumped gently against Gabriel's arm. "Dick."

"Don't tell me it's your favorite."

Morrison kept his eyes trained on the holoscreen.

"Fuck, seriously?"

"I wanted to be a pilot," Morrison said.

Typical. Of course he had. "So, why aren't you?"

"Huh?"

Gabriel snorted. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and lounged back. His nerves were steady. Morrison wasn't mad at him for looking, so maybe he didn't mind like some straight guys did. Or maybe he wasn't straight at all. Gabriel had never really thought about it.

"It's not a trick question, Blondie."

Morrison worked a hand through his hair. "You need a college degree."

"Yeah."

Morrison worried his lip between his teeth. "I, uh—didn't finish high school."

"Oh."

"Not that it could have been different, anyway," Morrison huffed. "Vision problems run in the family. I'm fine for right now, but—" He shrugged loosely. A sigh rolled from his mouth as he relaxed back onto the couch, one leg folded over the other, looking more at ease than he ever had before. "You secretly like it, don't you."

"What?"

Morrison grinned at him. "You're the one who put it on."

"It was the best option."

"Pretty flimsy excuse."

"You look through the listing and tell me there's something better." Gabriel shoved the control at him and leaned over the arm rest, as far away from his grinning friend as possible. "Besides, the ending is crap."

Morrison flipped through the listings, humming under his breath until he spoke. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they built up all this tension between Maverick and Iceman, and then pull that no-homo 1980's bullshit," Gabriel growled. Morrison was making a face. "What, you seriously never noticed?"

"I guess not."

"I mean, that gross scene with Mav and Charlie? They put that in after initial filming was done. Why do you think, huh?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “They had the perfect set up. Rivals to friends to lovers, but nope.” He crossed his arms over his chest, heaved a sigh, and let his head roll back. “And don’t get me started on Iceman—”

Morrison snorted. “You had a crush on Val Kilmer?”

“It’s those baby blue eyes, man, they get me every time.”

“I can’t believe you,” Morrison laughed. Actually _laughed_. Bright, warm, yellow, but rusty somehow, like Morrison couldn’t quite remember what it was supposed to sound like. His whole body shook with it, and Gabriel rolled his eyes, even though it was impossible not to smile when his friend look so goddamn delighted. “You’re so quick to judge me for liking it, but you’ve seen it how many times, just because you’ve got a thing for Iceman—”

Gabriel hooked an arm around Morrison’s neck and yanked him into his armpit, squeezing tight and giving him a good noogie. Morrison squirmed in his grip, hands darting up to pull at his hands as he ruffled through blond hair. “How dare you call me out,” he chuckled, “When have I ever been anything but nice to you, huh?”

Morrison shook hard with laughter that sounded good, fresh and clean and whole. Gabriel loosened his arm and gave Morrison’s head a good ruffle before pulling away, but Morrison came with him, tucked against the side of his body, one hand braced against Gabriel’s stomach, his laughter slowly dying out.

“I had this on VHS,” Morrison said, “I used to rewind the aerial scenes and play them over and over again, pretending like I was the one flying them.”

Morrison’s hand was still on Gabriel’s stomach. The weight of it felt good, and he didn’t dare move, afraid that it would be tucked away and he’d be left cold.

“We didn’t have a lot of tapes,” he said, slowly, “No cable. Just the radio, otherwise.”

“So, what’d you do for fun?”

“Not a lot of time for that,” Morrison said, “Just worked on the farm.”

“What’d you grow, anyway?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Blondie.”

Morrison pulled in a slow, even breath. It sounded like the sigh of the wind on a nice summer day. “Corn. We had a really big field for it. Squash, pumpkins. This time of year I’d be out cutting pumpkins off the vine. Hated doing it.” Gabriel kept his eyes trained on the holoscreen. He knew that there was a soft expression on Morrison’s face, just from the wistful tone of his voice. “We had a few apple trees out behind the barn. Grandparents had cows, so I helped out there, too, when I could.”

Morrison fell silent. He was still in the crook of Gabriel’s arm, eyes trained on the screen.

“You never talk about home.”

Morrison was quiet and still for a long moment. “No.”

Gabriel listened to the even tempo of Morrison’s breath, eyes focused on the movie, even if he couldn’t concentrate on it. His friend was still trembling, but less with every passing second. Gabriel knew that he was a furnace most of the time, which was why Olsen and Kowalski loved to cuddle up with him when the freeze wracked their bodies. He kept his arm on the back of the couch, afraid that if he moved he’d break the perfect moment.

“Hey, Jack, can I ask you something?” He kept his voice low, but couldn’t figure why; there was no one around. “Do you know what A100 means?”

No response. Gabriel glanced down at Morrison’s face.

His eyes were closed. Long, sandy eyelashes fluttered and moved with every minute twitch of his eyelids. Dreaming. Gabriel dared to move his arm off the back of the couch to Morrison’s shoulders, letting his hand rest on the back of his neck, fingers edging into soft blond hair.

Exhaustion pulled at his eyes. He dialed down the volume on the screen until it was only a murmur and rested his head back. Sleep rushed over him like a wave, and Gabriel fell asleep, safe and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	16. Chapter 16

Morning was bright orange against his eyelids. Gabriel’s body was stiff but he was deeply comfortable despite it, and stayed silent and half-asleep, slowly loosening under the sun.

Sunrise.

Shit.

Gabriel snapped awake all at once, and his jolt of movement spurred a groan from someone—Morrison?—on his chest.

They were curled up on the couch, Morrison’s arm flung across his stomach, his head right in the center of his chest. A sleepy blue eye cracked open, unfocused.

“Good, you’re awake.” Olsen was standing in front of the holoscreen, her hair untied and puffed up in tight curls. “We’re heading down to mess. You’re gonna be late if you don’t get up, lovebirds.”

Morrison pulled in a sleepy inhale that pushed against Gabriel’s chest. Slowly he drew away from Gabriel, blinking hard. “How late are we?”

"Ten minutes early, still,” Olsen quipped. “C’mon.”

Morrison rolled off Gabriel’s chest. God, he looked friggin’ hilarious, his hair sticking straight up from his skull, a bit of drool hanging down from his mouth. Gabriel snorted and pushed Morrison playfully as he lumbered to his feet. “Wake up, Blondie, or we won’t get to the coffee first.”

He didn’t have time to shave or shower, just enough time to wander back to his dorm and pull on clean clothes. A quick glance in the mirror stopped him short. God, he looked _good_. The circles under his eyes were gone. A good amount of stubble—that much in a few days was a shock, really—would become a good beard, given enough time. His hair was a hopeless mess. He worked fingers through it anyway before joining his friends in the hall.

There were more in attendance that morning, and Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief. Just a bad round, that’s all. He sat down at a table under warm bands of morning light, eyes dragging over the mountains. They were quickly turning to red and gold, a beautiful sight under a yellow sky.

He folded his hand under his chin. It was a little cold without his familiar layers. Olsen complained about the state of her hair, and Gabriel worked fast to put it up in a braided bun.

Morrison slid a cup of coffee against his arm. It was a perfect, creamy brown. “Oh, you didn’t have to,” Gabriel murmured, “Wait—you know how I take it?”

Morrison nudged his arm with an elbow. “Just a little sweet.”

“Didn’t know you paid so much attention.”

Farm Boy’s mouth tucked up into a smile. Gabriel’s muscles tensed. Thoughts cleared from his head, and he was left with nothing but a warmth in his stomach and a hitch in his breath. _Reyes_ was written over Morrison’s chest, and—was he really thinking this?—it looked right.

He turned his head away and made a grab for his coffee. He was actually glad for the crackle of the intercom, despite the expectation of having to hear the Beach Boys again.

They announced it like it was someone’s birthday, so dull and monotone that Gabriel didn’t realize what they’d said until Olsen and Lewis froze up across the table. Perrault dropped out.

Dropped out. Except dropped out meant dead.

The urge to put a cigarette between his fingers or to pour himself a drink was overwhelming.

“I—I need to go,” Gabriel stammered, “Don’t wait up, okay?”

The walk seemed to take days with the sudden weakness in his legs. God, he wanted to throw up, or to cry, or to just crawl into his bunk and go to sleep. But it wasn’t an answer, not a solution. If Perrault was dead—and Gabriel was _sure_ of it—then how many others were caught in the same storm as Morrison?

It wasn’t right, and goddamn it, Gabriel was going to give Dr. Hale and his crew a piece of his mind.

He felt a hand on his arm. Toxic thoughts evaporated from his mind.

Just Morrison, who’d obviously decided he wasn’t going to be left out of it. Gabriel blinked slowly at him, mouth working wordlessly.

Morrison’s steady eyes focused on the med ward doors. A mess of nurses and doctors stood behind the doors. He couldn’t hear them, but he knew what they were discussing. What happened to the body.

Morrison slammed open the door. A few of the nurses jumped, startled. Most looked too tired to care.

Gabriel braced himself for yelling, accusations, he wasn’t sure what—but Morrison just stood there, perfectly still and quiet, his grip on Gabriel’s arm so tight it hurt.

“Thirteen. Seventy-six. This is a surprise.” Dr. Hale stepped out from the mob. “You’ve come to have a word, I imagine? Come with me.”

Dr. Hale turned and began a smooth walk down the hall, past the examination rooms. Gabriel stayed where he was, despite the pull of Morrison’s hand. “Jack—”

“What’s wrong?” Morrison’s grip loosened.

He didn’t have an answer, so he swallowed his fear and fell into a walk.

Gabriel tried to ignore the two large ward assistants that shadowed them.

“Please, come in. Make yourselves comfortable.” Dr. Hale said in his slight, quavering voice.

His office was small and plain, with long shelves filled with books and equipment Gabriel didn’t have names for. Just one chair. Gabriel let Morrison sit and leaned back against a metal cabinet with his arms crossed, heart pounding hard. One look and Dr. Hale would be able to see it jump around through his shirt.

Dr. Hale swept papers and folders off his desk and sat down, fingers steepled like he was some kind of cartoon villain. “You’re looking very well, seventy-six.”

“Jack,” Morrison grunted.

“Right, of course. I figured you would come here seeking answers. I am…very saddened by the loss of such a promising soldier, but I assure you, he’s better off as a civilian.”

“You mean he’s alive?” Morrison said.

“What happened to Perrault?” Gabriel knew that Dr. Hale wasn’t telling the whole, complete truth.

“Half of our inductees were here in the wards last night. He chose to return home, instead of completing the program.”

Gabriel tore his eyes away from the pale, deathly doctor. He studied the books on his shelf instead. His throat snapped tight. Dead. Definitely dead.

“As it stands, his departure means that we’ve had to work around some of our plans,” Dr. Hale said with a sigh. He opened a drawer to produce a file and flipped through the contents with long, bony fingers. “Seventy-six—Mr. Morrison, I apologize—previously suggested you for advanced training, and now with Perrault gone—”

“Wait,” Gabriel grunted, “The hell are you talking about?”

Dr. Hale coughed to clear his throat. “I assure you, Mr. Reyes, everyone here has been well aware of your progress. Simply put, it is impressive. I voted for you myself. But that doesn’t matter now. Should you agree to our terms, we can began immediately. You’ll have to make up for lost time.”

Dr. Hale pushed the file across he desk. Gabriel ignored it, and grunted, “You never said anything about this, Jack.”

Morrison pushed a hand into his hair, then doubled over, fingers working over the back of his neck.

Gabriel waited. His stomach sank slowly to the floor.

Perrault and Morrison—and who knew who else—had been selected for some kind of advanced training. Maybe that’s all _#A100_ meant. The note he’d uncovered on Deschamps’ notepad sprang to mind.

_Still no leadership potential. Meeting again at usual time._

They were grooming Morrison for command.

It felt like a knife stuck between his ribs, and Gabriel could feel a fire rise under his skin. How _dare_ they. Olsen absolutely would have told him, rules be damned, if she’d been selected for command. Number one on base, and—

“Who else?”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Reyes?”

“Who else have you selected?”

“Well—” Dr. Hale tapped his fingers on the desk. “—fifteen and one-thirty-five.”

“Ruscito and Carver?” Gabriel snorted. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, Doc.”

“I know how it must look—”

“Oh, yeah, of course you do.” Gabriel pushed away from the metal cabinet. “You know what? You want your boy band to save the day, fine. I don’t want any part of this.”

“Mr. Reyes, please—” Dr. Hale lifted the file and pushed it at him.

Gabriel took it gingerly, fingers working through the contents. More forms to sign, all in blocks of text so thick they were all but impossible to read.

He tore the forms apart. They looked better in pieces on the floor, anyway. “Thanks for the offer, Dr. Hale, but I don’t think I’ll be taking it.”

Dr. Hale stood. He was a small, frail man, but his eyes were alive and seething. “Subject Thirteen—”

He couldn’t stomach looking at the doctor, or Morrison. He stormed out of the office and didn’t wait up.

Gabriel’s head was a black, smoking ruin.

-

Gabriel locked himself in his dorm where no one could see him, where he could be weak and miserable for one goddamn second before he had to pull it together and go back out there. God, everything was _wrong_. The itch under his skin. The walls around the facility.

Top-secret government _bullshit_.

Morrison hadn’t said a fucking word. They were best friends and Morrison hadn’t said a _goddamn_ thing. It felt like a betrayal, hot under his skin, ripping him open and letting him bleed out. And Olsen, too—God, if anyone at SEP deserved command it was her, equal parts brilliant and cunning. She’d come out of so many close calls that her stories always left Gabriel shocked.

They both deserved better.

Gabriel pulled himself together, washed his face in the sink, and stepped back out into the dormitory hall. It was deathly quiet. Everyone was probably still in the mess hall.

He hated running, but when he fell into laps around the grounds it was easier to think about how miserable he was doing _that_ than he was about—fuck, everything. A perfect morning had been absolutely ruined, and wrecked his composure.

Gabriel pushed himself into the run despite his exhaustion, lungs and muscles burning. He focused on the bite of the cool autumn air.

When he crossed in front of the facility doors, Olivia Deschamps was waiting, standing in the middle of the track. He slowed to a stop, panting hard.

“I’ve just spoken with Dr. Hale,” she said, “I’m surprised at your behavior.”

“Yeah, shocking, huh,” he grunted, “Listen, Deschamps, don’t you think it’s a little weird that there are _three_ brown people in the top five, and none of them were offered this advanced training?”

Deschamps’ eyes darted away. “Mr. Reyes, please.”

“Olsen’s a legend,” he said, “She’s never failed a goddamn mission and if she were my commander, I’d follow her right into hell. Guess you guys don’t see it, huh?”

“Mr. Reyes—”

“And Khan. The guy’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. It’s like the whole world is a chess game and he’s a master.” Gabriel scuffed his shoe in the dirt. “Funny how he got forgotten, too.”

“We’re offering you the position now—”

“Yeah, feels great to be an afterthought,” Gabriel snarled. “I’m not interested in talking to you right now. So, if you don’t mind—”

He stepped around Deschamps and fell into a light jog.

Her voice carried sharp on the wind. “You risk being discharged, Mr. Reyes.”

Discharged. Gabriel stopped cold.

Deschamps marched down the track, circling in front of him, her lips turned up in a snarl. “I understand how it looks, Mr. Reyes, but you _must_ understand why they were chosen first and foremost. They simply have more experience—”

Gabriel barked a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, Morrison’s sure got me beat there. Except, wait, he’s never had command.”

Deschamps paled. “You two are friends, surely you understand.”

No. They probably weren’t friends at all, if Morrison had known all this time and never fucking bothered to tell him.

“You’ve been selected,” Deschamps snapped, “And you’ll report to our briefings and take part in our specialized training missions, or you’ll be dishonorably discharged.”

Gabriel ground his teeth. He forced a nod,despite the bile rising in his throat.

“Glad you understand.” Deschamps’ tone changed instantly, and she offered a white, toothy smile. “That’s strike one for you, Mr. Reyes. Don’t count to three.”

Gabriel’s heart hammered. He watched Deschamps stroll away, swinging her hips like she’d won the game. And damn, she had.

“Wait,” he called out, “About that letter—”

“I’m not doing you any favors, Mr. Reyes. Don’t bother asking again.”

-

Gabriel pounded on the bag in the gym for hours until his stomach growled around noon. Still, he couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at Morrison. Shaking with adrenaline and covered in sweat, he burned himself under the shower, and stormed back toward the dorms.

He ran into Olsen, and dove into her arms. She patted his back awkwardly. “What’s gotten into you, kid?”

He said _fuck it_ to the assumption that he was supposed to keep his mouth shut and told Olsen everything in the privacy of his room. She sat still, hands folded under her chin, listening until he was finished. He left out the feeling of betrayal, but she’d know, anyway.

“This is total bullshit,” she snarled, “We’re all fighting this war together.”

She kept talking. Olsen did that when she was upset or nervous. She tapped her nails against her prosthetic arm and fidgeted, unable to keep still. He felt the same, but the fire had burned out, leaving only embers behind.

“So Perrault’s dead,” Olsen grunted, “No word about anyone else?”

“No. Just him.”

Olsen sat back on his bed, brown eyes distant, unfocused. “The guy was a real dick, but still…I wouldn’t have wished that on him.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel agreed.

“Blondie got a little close, didn’t he?” Olsen nudged his shoulder. “Aren’t you worried?”

Gabriel didn’t even want to _think_ about Morrison.

“I want out,” Olsen sighed. “I thought we’d be here for three months, max. I wouldn’t have accepted otherwise.”

“Yeah.”

She leaned on his shoulder. He worked his fingers through her tight curls. “I know I’m stronger. Better. Faster.” Olsen paused to hand him a hair tie, and he started braiding her hair. “But what use is all that if we lose the war while we’re stuck here? Shit. I can’t even send word to my old unit. They could all be dead. Or worse.”

Gabriel didn’t want to guess at what Olsen’s definition of _worse_ was.

“We’re losing ground in Texas. No one’s said anything yet, but I’m not so blind I can’t see the changes on the maps. That’s my home turf.” She paused for effect, mouth pursed. “There’s three big Omniums down in San Antonio. I think there’s gonna be a big push back to clear the area between the city and the border. I think…I don’t think it’ll be long before we’re back playing war heroes.”

“You might be right.”

“I’m rarely wrong.” Olsen aimed a big, toothy smile at him. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go have a chat with the coordinator.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we deserve those spots,” she said, “And I’m gonna tell him where he can park his racist ass. Besides.” She cupped a hand over his jaw, a fond expression warm in her eyes. “I want to go back to war with you watching my six, kid.”

She slid off the bed, offered a wave, and was gone without another word.

Gabriel flopped back on the mattress, his mind working hard.

It was barely mid-afternoon and he felt years older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Blood (no gore) and vomiting

Distance was new. It was supposed to make him feel better, more sure, but a week spent not talking to Morrison was hell.

They lived on the same floor, ate at the same table, and stayed out on the track long after sundown, Morrison always lapping him, both determined to out pace the other. They didn't talk. Not that Morrison talked much when they were on good terms.

Morrison caught him in the gym one night, long after Olsen had gotten bored of beating his ass in a spar. She was riled up and ready to fight, chomping at the bit in anticipation for advanced training. Coordinator Castillo took the long route around their table during mess, and hell if that didn't make the both of them smile.

"Hey."

Gabriel ignored him. He was determined to crush his sit-up record and focused his eyes on the weight racks under the window.

Morrison waited. Gabriel felt adrenaline creep under his skin from the weight of those cold, mirror-like eyes.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

Gabriel knew it was childish, but didn't grace the question with a response. He didn't owe Morrison shit, anyway. Trust was a two-way street.

Part of him wanted to believe that it was a misunderstanding.

He focused on exercise, even if he hated sit-ups almost as much as he hated running, almost as much as he currently hated Morrison's eyes on him.

"Fine."

Boots squeaked. Gabriel allowed his eyes to wander, and caught black boots moving toward the bench. Morrison sat, hands braced on his knees, leaning forward.

"I'm sick of this," Morrison said, "I'll talk."

Gabriel faltered and lost his pace. He flopped back on the mat, staring at the ceiling. He didn't really want to hear it, but curiosity be damned, it won out against his pride. "That's a new one for you, Farm Boy."

"You want to be mad at me? Fine. You have a right to be. But—"

Four sentences in and Morrison had already stalled. Gabriel waited for him to pick up the words. Nothing came but the rustle of fabric. He folded up, then rolled to his feet.

It felt awkward just to stand there staring at him. Gabriel worked a hand over his shoulder. "Good try," he grunted, "When you decide what you want to say let me know. I'm not wasting my time."

"Gabriel, wait—"

"You can call me Reyes."

Morrison's spine snapped straight. "How about I call you an asshole instead?"

Gabriel couldn't hold back on a snort. It turned into a short, ugly laugh. Morrison's eyes widened slowly, like he had expected Gabriel to be offended. No, calling him names couldn't do that. Shit like lying to him and being too thick to figure out how to apologize? That would do it.

Gabriel let the gym door slam on his way out.

-

Olsen was bright-eyed and eager on the first day, and hung on to Gabriel's arm as they walked into Deschamps' office. Coordinator Castillo flinched when she winked at him. She elbowed him in the ribs, clearly delighted. Gabriel was aching to know exactly what had transpired between the two of them.

Deschamps wouldn't look at him as she laid down bare, useless facts about advanced training. They were being groomed for command, that much was obvious. The rest was vague enough for Gabriel's imagination to step in.

Instead of five, they had seven: Khan and the top military school kid, Brooks, stood awkwardly by the wall. Khan mouthed dirty jokes to Olsen.

Training started in a lecture hall headed by Coordinator Castillo himself. It was clear that the man had no military training whatsoever, and his advice was old, outdated, regurgitated. Gabriel fell asleep during the lecture, only to be roused by Olsen poking fingers into his ribs.

Deschamps cut the lecture short. "We're ready downstairs. With me."

They followed her down a cargo elevator into a basement Gabriel wasn't aware existed. The ceiling was so low that Gabriel had to duck to under dripping pipes. The walls were painted concrete blocks, damp with moisture, but there were no doors.

The answer hit him right in the stomach. It was a bunker.

Gabriel glanced back over his shoulder. Morrison tailed behind them, head hung low. He looked miserable. Gabriel couldn't guess why.

Deschamps punched a code into a door— _7889,_ Gabriel mentally locked it down—and led them down a polished white hall, completely devoid of noise except for their own footsteps. Olsen pressed against his arm. He felt a cool plume of air against his skin, and wished that he had his sweater. It was still in Morrison's possession, and he couldn't stand to talk to Morrison long enough to ask for it back.

They were sorted one-by-one into a small room that stunk like cleaning chemicals like the med wards upstairs. There were chairs set against the walls, sitting next to carts full of equipment.

It was a bit of a let-down. Gabriel had expected some top-secret government shit, like in the movies.

"Have a seat," Deschamps ordered, "I'll be back for you shortly."

Gabriel gave a wave to his usual nurse, who grinned back.

"Why'd we get dragged all the way down here to check blood pressure?" Olsen asked as she followed commands to sit, and offered her wrists to be strapped down. "Hey, Wrath of Khan, got any ideas?"

Khan grinned back from across the room. "Sure, but it's no fun if I tell you."

"Jackass!"

Gabriel was used to the idea of being strapped down and didn’t think twice about it. “I didn’t even know this part of the facility existed,” he said casually, smiling at his nurse. “Hey, where do the staff sleep, anyway?”

“Upstairs, past the kitchens.” His nurse tested his straps, got him to pull against them. “I’m still trying to figure out which one of you makes a racket in the cafeteria after hours.”

Gabriel threw a questioning glance at Olsen. She shrugged back.

“Why don’t you check the feeds?”

The nurse scoffed, patted him lightly on the arm, and asked him to sit still. She stuck electrodes to his skin that itched a little.

“Hey, Blondie, you feeling okay?” Olsen said.

Gabriel was determined not to lift his head to glance at Morrison, and failed. He looked nervous as hell, mouth worried into a frown, eyes unfocused. He wasn’t even within reach, but his arm flexed and his nurse chided him.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “I’ll be still.”

His nurse glanced at Khan’s across the aisle. They looked…wary. Like they were handling dogs instead of people.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Oh, dear.” His nurse gently patted his cheek. “Terribly sorry about all this. It sounds like unpleasant business.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Deschamps should have explained everything,” she mumbled, “Anyone?”

Everyone looked confused, with the exception of Khan, who had everything figured out all the time, apparently.

“Well—every Wednesday, you’ll be called down,” she said, “For PRT.”

“PRT?”

“Pain resistance testing.” She recoiled, lip curling, then turned away abruptly to hammer her hands down on the machine his electrodes were attached to.

Gabriel didn’t have time to wrap his mind around the idea before a switch was flipped and little electric shocks rippled over his skin, uncomfortable but not painful.

Olsen let out a laugh. “Oh, this tickles,” she gasped, “Who thought of this? Great idea!”

“Tex, what the fuck?” Gabriel hissed.

The room exploded with noise. Gabriel’s throat was starting to go dry. Not that it hurt at all, until a different switch was flipped and his nurse dialed it up. That setting felt more like pins and needles when his leg fell asleep.

It was weird as hell, but Gabriel found it easy to block out, even when the setting was upped again. His nurse swept cautious eyes over him, and patted his arm.

"No trouble? Really?"

"Really."

She glanced back at the machine, humming under her breath. "Extraordinary."

Gabriel closed his eyes, thinking he'd catch a nap, when Brooks groaned across the room. She was unlatched and let out. Gabriel could hear her stumbling the second she was out the door.

Khan seemed to think it was funny, and laughed lightly. "There she goes," he said, "Did you know her mom's state representative for Georgia?"

"No way!" Olsen cried out, "Man, what's the point of bringing kids like her here at all? She's never gonna see real combat. What use is a super soldier sitting at a desk?"

Gabriel couldn't hold back on a snicker. His nurse gave him the stink-eye, and he grinned up at her, apologetic.

"Maybe she can fill out paperwork lightning-fast," Ruscito joked, "Maybe she'll have extra stamina for the filibusters of her political future."

Joke was on him. The next setting had Ruscito writhing in his chair, sweating buckets and biting down on his lip so hard it started bleeding. He practically fell out of the binds when he was let go, and it took two people to drag him out.

Gabriel squinted at his controls. "Are you sure we're all at the same setting?"

"I'm sure. You're doing very well, Mr. Reyes."

He grinned at Olsen. She seemed to be having a blast.

Carver didn't last much longer. Khan seemed unaffected, and then doubled over at all once, bowing out.

Gabriel could _see_ that it hurt more than he could feel it. His muscles jerked and twitched. Goosebumps rose on his arm. He squeezed his hands into fists, released, squeezed. It was a good distraction. A sweat started on the back of his neck by the time Olsen started panting softly, suddenly quiet, teeth gritted.

"Oh, this is very unpleasant," Olsen grunted, "God, I'd rather be in labor again."

"Wait." It took a lot of energy to speak. Gabriel couldn't figure when he'd become so exhausted. "You have a kid?"

"Yeah! Did I never tell you about him?" Olsen flashed her teeth in a smile. "His name's Luke. He's—" Olsen curled forward against the bonds, groaning. "—he turned eight this year."

She curved back against the chair, and Gabriel caught a glimpse of Morrison on her other side, looking just as confused about the revelation as he felt.

"Is he—"

"With my parents," Olsen panted, "Up in Canada somewhere. Some place called—shit, I think it's Winnipeg. Can't—"

Gabriel felt the first twinge of real pain at the next setting. It felt like scorching needles somewhere in the back of his head, working up into his body.

Olsen twisted in her chair, groaning under her breath. “Oh, this is unpleasant.”

A moment later, Olsen broke, and tapped out. Once free, she straightened, wiped her sweaty brow, and grinned. "Well, that was—well it wasn't fun. Hardcore shit, man." She punched her nurse playfully on the arm and stumbled for the door. "Well now I've got a good idea of how much torture I could stand before I break."

"Don't forget, this is a weekly thing,” the nurse said.

Olsen’s grin remained, but her eyes were horrified. “Aren’t we lucky!”

Gabriel ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. It was all in his head, right behind his eyes; the rest only registered as unwanted jerks and convulsions. Sweat started to pour down his forehead into his eyes, and the urge to move to wipe it away was almost worse than the pain. His head jerked to the left, and he opened his eyes to see Morrison staring back at him, his eyes big pools of mercury.

He looked worse off than Gabriel felt. He was shaking hard, his body jerking and twisting, but he was deathly silent.

Gabriel tore his eyes away and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You know what?” he gasped, “I’m done. We’re done.”

“We?” Morrison huffed.

“Yeah, you and me, Farm Boy. Let him out, too.”

The machine clicked off, and relief rolled over him, strange and alien. His body trembled even without the shocks as his nurse plucked diodes off his sweat-slicked skin.

“No,” Morrison snapped at his nurse, “I’m not done.”

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Gabriel growled. “He’s done. Let him out.”

“But—”

“What have you got left to prove?” Gabriel hissed.

Morrison’s chin jerked up. The muscles in his jaw were twitching hard, but he didn’t fight as the nurse let both of them free.

Gabriel set his weight slowly, cautiously, and fell flat to the floor. He could barely feel his legs at all; it was like his bones had melted out from under his muscles. He set his palm against the tile floor. It was wonderfully cool against his skin. “Hey, uh—could I have my shirt?”

It landed softly near his hand. “Thanks, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Do you need a hand?”

“Nah.”

He helped himself up with one of the chairs and set his weight again, more carefully this time, and managed to lurch toward the door. There was no lingering pain, just shaking muscles and a light head. Pulling his shirt on seemed needlessly complicated. Once in the hallway, he felt like he could breathe. Some of the feeling was swiftly returning to his legs.

Morrison lunged out of the room, hit the wall, and slid down to the floor. Gabriel spun on his heel in time to hear a retch and watch Morrison’s back surge as he emptied his stomach on the shiny tile floors.

Gabriel watched, dulled and blank, until he focused enough to move to Morrison’s side. He spread a hand out across his back. Contact felt weird. Like he was too sensitive to it. “Shit, I told you,” he muttered, “You should have said something.”

“Now’s not a great time for a lecture,” Morrison groaned. He started to say something else, but just gagged and doubled over, making more of a mess on the floor. Gabriel glanced back at the door. The nurses looked horrified and disgusted.

“Clean up on aisle three,” Gabriel snickered.

“Asshole.”

He patted his hand down on Morrison’s back. “Yeah, yeah. Done?”

Morrison was still for a moment, then nodded. Gabriel roped an arm around him and lifted him to his feet before he remembered that he wasn’t _supposed_ to be entertaining Morrison at all. He was supposed to be angry.

Hard to be, though, when the guy looked so goddamn miserable.

“I’m fine,” Morrison grunted, “I can walk.”

He pulled away from Gabriel, lurched toward the wall, and caught himself. He followed behind him, watching his uneven steps.

Morrison didn’t look back.

It was probably easier that way.

-

Screaming woke him in the middle of the night.

Gabriel sat up, a cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck, his heart pounding. He was half sure that _he_ had been the one screaming, until it started up again, distant down the hall. He could hear a low grumble through the walls. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, not exactly—everyone had bad nights—but he slipped out of bed and pulled on his sweatpants. He’d been dreaming about Oregon, and the shadows of pine trees pushed against the walls of the SEP facility.

Instinct dragged him down the hall to the door marked _76_. Heart hammering, he listened, breath caught in his throat until he heard something soft like a sob on the other side of the door.

He reached out to touch it. Just his fingertips against metal, and he knew he wasn’t brave enough to roll it open.

He waited, quiet and still, part of him hoping that the light would flick on inside, or that it would roll open and—and what?

His new feelings didn’t mix well with the jab of being lied to.

Gabriel took his sore body and overexposed mind on a tour of the facility, instead.

Four stories, total—two below ground—and a network of halls that made more sense the further away from the dorms he walked. Past Deschamps’ office, the atmosphere shifted. Colder. Cleaner. The stairs down to the basement tempted him, and a number echoed in his head. 7889. The pass code on the door.

He wanted answers.

Gabriel glanced at one of the spherical security cameras on the wall. Something about his nurse’s reaction earlier told him that his suspicions were correct; no one watched them. He swept down the door to the basement and punched in the code.

It was freezing cold. Gabriel wrapped his arms around himself as he walked, his footsteps and his breaths the only sound. A shiver rolled up his spine and spread through his sore muscles.

He kept walking, hungry for answers, eager to put his overactive mind to rest.

The room where they’d done PRT was empty. The machines let out a dull hum. Waste of electricity. Further down the hall he caught a dim glow, possibly from a computer, and crept toward it.

A simple door waited. Blue glowed under the crack in the door. He crouched down, careful not to cast a shadow as he listened for the sound of breathing, computer keys, anything. Nothing. He gave the handle a slow tug, and to his amazement it opened.

It was what looked like a nurse’s office, but there wasn’t a placard on the door. He lurched across the room and fell into the office chair, heart pounding, mouth suddenly dry and fuzzy.

Password. Password. Password.

Gabriel scrolled through a list of profiles, found his nurse’s name, and clicked. He might be able to guess her password before anyone else’s. She loved to talk about books, and upon discovering that Gabriel loved to read, had insisted that he read King’s _The Dark Tower_ series.

He tired the title five different ways. Couldn’t be just _Stephen King_ , but he gave it a shot, and stared blankly at a background picture of a cat sunning itself in a kitchen window.

“High security, huh,” Gabriel chuckled to himself. He drummed his fingers on the keyboard. No way she had access to everything, but…Gabriel clicked open the directory and squinted. Nope. Everything was there, neatly organized on the cloud server. Expense reports. Medical records. Trucking schedules.

Gabriel opened a file marked ‘Castillo’. He found a file full of pictures that were probably supposed to be funny, and a contact list of first names and phone numbers.

Deschamps’ file had more meat to it, but nothing that stuck out, except—

A schedule.

He glanced up at the door. It was deathly quiet. He opened the file and scrolled through a very descriptive run-down of a day in the life of Deschamps. She woke up at 0430h— _what the hell_ —worked on paperwork, had actual time alloted for scheduling the rest of her day. He snorted. He scrolled down, bored by the bulk of it, until he caught a name.

He’d never heard Deschamps call him _Jack_ , but there was his name, bolded and blocked in at the same time he’d been disappearing. Maybe Olsen was right. Maybe they were fucking.

He worked back through the month. The time slots started early in September and rolled up to the present. They were blocked in solid until December 20th.

Weirdly specific. Gabriel hit ctrl+f and typed in _A100_.

He got one run-on paragraph for his trouble, from August 12th.

_Dr. Hale says #A100 might be a match for Morrison, waiting on more tests back from Park Hills. Don’t want to ruin a good subject otherwise. Could be the best of the lot, missing something. Will figure out what it is._

He clicked through medical files. It was wrong of him to look through Morrison’s. A total breach of trust.

He found Perrault’s, first.

He skimmed through the boring parts to the bottom. A single line in red stood out. _Terminated_.

Like he’d been fired. Gabriel snorted.

He circled back to Morrison’s file. His picture had been taken on the first day, and he was covered in summer freckles. He looked a little lost, a little confused. Cute.

He was from some place called Bloomington. Sounded nice.

He scrolled past things he already knew, and stopped to read things he didn’t. He was taking something called paroxetine. And there— _A100_.

He heard something out in the hall—or maybe it was his imagination—and snapped out of the screen, ducking under the desk. He waited, heart hammering, sweat beading on his brow. A shadow moved in front of the door. Shit.

Gabriel couldn’t look away. Breath halted, he could only wait until the shadow moved.

He moved from under the desk. The door handle moved silently in his palm. The hall looked clear, and he slipped out, letting the door stay open. It’d make too much noise.

The basement felt like a maze. Gabriel pressed against the wall, every step light and quiet, increasing speed as he reached the door.

He glanced back over his shoulder, and ran headfirst into something warm and soft.

Gabriel bit down on a yelp and reeled backwards, his heart slamming hard in his chest, adrenaline surging under his skin. Ghostly silver eyes stared back at him, equally terrified.

“Jack,” he grunted, “What the _fuck_?”

Morrison half-turned, one hand pushed up into his hair. He looked terrible. Deep circles were set under his eyes, worsened by the shadows.

Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest, hoping to calm his heart, but goddamn, Morrison had spooked him. “Did you follow me?”

“—Yes,” Morrison muttered, “Yeah. I did.”

“What the fuck, Jack? Why?”

Morrison’s eyes were like traps. One look and he was stuck staring his own insecurities in the face. Morrison was a damn good mirror.

Gabriel let his eyes graze down his chest, over a heather-gray sweater— _his_ sweater—

Morrison crossed his arms over his chest. “I heard you, earlier. Outside my door.”

God. Gabriel swallowed hard. His throat was parched, as usual. “Yeah,” he grunted, voice hoarse, “You woke me up. And—”

And he’d been scared.

“I thought you were going to the gym, or the kitchen,” Morrison said, “So I followed you. Thought—thought maybe this was a good time.”

“Your idea of good timing is pretty fucking funny.”

Morrison set his jaw. Muscles worked hard, like he was trying to keep himself from talking.

Gabriel moved past him, brushing shoulders. “Move.”

A hand snapped out and grabbed his arm. Gabriel twisted, anger boiling up under his skin, but Morrison talked fast.

“Wait. Give me one goddamn minute, okay? Am I worth that much to you?” There was a note of desperation in his voice, and Gabriel’s heart gave a quick, solid squeeze. Just enough to stall him. “You want to know why I didn’t tell you? Because I knew why they picked me and not you, or Olsen, or Khan. You know why, too.”

Yeah, he did. Blond hair, blue eyes, strong jaw. Poster boy.

“And I can’t stand it,” Morrison hissed, voice grating, “I can’t _stand_ that she sees that shit in me, because—it’s not there, Gabriel. I’m not the person they think I am. They just—they just take one look at me and decide who I am for me, and that’s that. And I’m the one pathetic enough to try to prove that I’m something I’m not.”

The hand on Gabriel’s arm squeezed tight, aching against his sore muscles and the injection site, but Gabriel remained still, breathless, caught in Morrison’s big silvery eyes.

“I tried—I tried to tell her. Earlier, before she told me about advanced training.” Morrison’s voice quieted to a dull murmur, like rain falling on a tin roof somewhere distant in Gabriel’s memory. “I don’t have leadership experience. Or skills. That I was the rookie who got people killed in Texas. And she waved it all off, and smiled at me, and—I hate the way she looks at me. Like—”

“Jack—”

“I don’t want to let anyone down. That’s all I’m gonna do if they let me—” Jack’s grip tightened for a moment, then released him. “I already let you down.”

A soft sob rolled out from Morrison’s throat. Hands scrambled against Gabriel’s chest, and he let Morrison collapse on his shoulder.

“I told her—I told _them_ —that it should be you. That I saw it in you the first time we met, before I even knew you were a soldier, and—”

Morrison’s voice had turned weak, hollow. Still no tears. Gabriel worked a hand up Morrison’s bicep, slow and awkward. He wasn’t sure what to do. Part of him wanted to walk away.

“—I’m sorry, okay?” Morrison pulled in a deep breath, lifting his head from Gabriel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Gabriel growled.

Morrison drew back, blinking, confused.

“Good enough. That’s what you want to say, right?”

“Well—”

“Well, it’s bullshit, Jack. You don’t owe a goddamn thing to anyone except yourself. Deschamps doesn’t get to decide what kind of person you are. _I_ don’t get to decide, either.”

Morrison tucked his chin down, eyes lowered to the floor. “But—"

“You’re _you_. That’s enough. Okay?” Gabriel set his hands on Morrison’s shoulders, and Morrison wilted under his palms.

A light snapped on down the hall. Gabriel’s nerves jumped, and he pushed Morrison out through the door into the moisture-slicked hall.

Still and silent, Gabriel waited for the light to snap back off. They certainly hadn’t been quiet, but no one was coming for them, and by slow degrees he relaxed.

He gave Morrison’s sleeve a tug. “It’s late. Let’s go back to bed.”

They walked in total silence. Gabriel’s mind was alive and working, his empathy in overdrive. Morrison looked terrible. He lagged behind, eyes stuck on the floor, distant and weary. Without thinking Gabriel reached back for his hand.

The slightest of touches, but it felt like lightning crawling up his arm. Gabriel slid his fingers around Morrison’s palm, the heat of his skin enough to have his heart racing again. Silvery eyes locked onto his, and Gabriel’s breath failed to catch.

Morrison’s fingers moved slowly to squeeze his hand.

Gabriel wasn’t moving, and neither was he. He had to do something. _Say_ something.

He worked his mouth into a small, polite smile, hoping it would spark words on his tongue, or lighten the weight of the moment.

Morrison’s mouth curved to mirror his.

Gabriel nudged one foot forward. Half an hour ago they had barely been on speaking terms, but he suddenly couldn’t think about anything else than pressing his lips to that smile, about feeling the warmth of Morrison’s body under his hands, and his body moved with the compulsion, hand squeezing tight around Morrison’s.

Something like a scream cut through the moment like a knife. Morrison’s head darted toward the cargo elevator.

“Who was—”

“Come on!”

Adrenaline spiked. That voice—high pitched, panicked—meant something was wrong. _Really_ wrong.

The elevator seemed to take ages to reach the main floor. He and Morrison darted out, eyes searching the gloom. A second, strained cry dragged them toward the mess hall.

The halls in the facility exacerbated every scream, every yelp, and their search was narrowed to the hall between the mess hall and the grounds.

There—two bodies on the floor, one folded over the other—fighting?

“What the hell is going on?” Gabriel barked.

“I don’t know, man!” Gabriel recognized him as Roarke, one of Lewis’ friends. “We were just talking and then he—”

There was blood on the wall in little droplets. Gabriel dropped to one knee beside—oh _God_ , it was Lewis—and pushed Roarke out of the way. Red coated Lewis’ mouth and the front of his shirt.

Eyes open, but unfocused, his pupils huge like he was high. His breath came in short, labored huffs. A conscious effort to keep breathing, which meant he was awake.

“Hey, Jeff, buddy, can you hear me? Blink if you can’t talk.”

Nothing. Gabriel grabbed Lewis’ wrist and felt at his sluggish pulse.

Not good.

“Roarke,” he said, “Get to the wards, find a nurse, tell them to bring a cart.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Roarke whimpered. He sniffed hard, and tears started pouring down his cheeks without warning. He shoved past Gabriel, tangling hands in Lewis’ shirt. “Y-you can’t die on me, bastard.”

“He’s gonna be okay, but he need a doctor, _now_.”

Keep calm. He had to keep calm. His heart was beating so hard that he felt lightheaded.

Roarke was on the verge of a panic. Morrison managed to peel him away from Lewis, but not without a scuffle.

“Shit,” another voice cried out, “What the fuck!”

Shoes squeaked against the floor. Gabriel lifted his head. A few people, probably roused from sleep, crammed into the hall.

Gabriel’s chest tightened like someone had fastened a vice around it. He’d never been so happy to see Olsen shoulder people out of her way like a bulldozer. “Thirteen, what the fuck did you do to him?”

“We need a doctor,” Gabriel huffed, “Now!”

Someone took off at a run. Gabriel couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lewis’ ashen face.

Olsen’s eyes dragged from him to Lewis. “Is that—Jeff!”

She collapsed at his side, hands slapping lightly at his pale, gray-tinged face. “Oh my God, hang in there! Jeff—you listen to me—”

“Tex—”

He’d never seen her cry before. Big tears rolled down quickly reddening cheeks. Snot dripped from her nose. “Jeff, come on, look at me—”

“We need a doctor!”

Lewis groaned and moved his head, just a little, enough for his head to loll to the side. His mouth fell open and he coughed, throwing flecks of blood against Gabriel’s face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. God, that wasn’t good.

“You’re gonna be okay, buddy. Hang in there.”

“S’fine,” Lewis gurgled, “I’m gonna be…fine.”

He had to stay calm.

Lewis started to shake.

God, where was the doctor?

Gabriel felt for Lewis’ pulse. Still sluggish. Slower than before. His body was stiff and cold.

Shit.

Lewis’ chest wasn’t moving.

He was alerted to the sound of footsteps. Morrison slid across the floor, panting hard. “They’re on their way,” he gasped, “I went—they’re coming. They’re coming.”

Gabriel tucked fingers under his friend’s chin and leaned in close. He waited for breath to touch his cheek and cursed when he didn’t get so lucky.

“Someone—someone, please—make sure that cart is coming.”

“What? Why?” Olsen shrieked, “What’s happening?”

Gabriel laced his fingers together and didn’t think, just pulled in breaths, just acted. He pressed his hands against Lewis’ chest and tried to count, but there was a sudden rush of noise around him. Roarke was swearing and angry now, and someone leapt up to keep him away. The tips of his fingers felt numb, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t—not until that damned cart got to them.

Lewis’ face was covered in dark, sticky blood. He waited for a breath that didn’t come, pinched his friend’s nose, and breathed into his mouth. He waited for an inhale, gave a second breath, and fell back to chest compressions when it didn’t catch.

Someone bumped against his shoulder. He wanted to curse and shove them away, but it was only Morrison, with a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Jack,” he panted, “Count for me.”

“…Five. Six. Seven…”

Gabriel’s world narrowed to a sharp, jagged edge. If he stopped, Lewis was dead.

“Twenty-nine. Thirty.”

Gabriel pushed his breath into Lewis’ lungs and waited for an inhale. Nothing.

“He’s going to make it,” Morrison said. The hand on his back moved across his shoulders, firm and reassuring. “One…two…”

He was halfway through a breath when Lewis bucked up and hacked a cough that sprayed more blood over Gabriel’s face. Mind numb, he worked on autopilot, rolling Lewis onto his side. Metal wheels sang against the floor.

He watched them load Lewis onto the cart, his mind absent, his panic catching up to him and rendering his body useless. Gabriel folded against the wall and slid down to the floor, watching the cart disappear with the crowd around the corner.

He was dimly aware of Morrison falling onto the floor next to him. “You just saved his life,” he said, “You just—”

“Don’t.”

“Gabriel—”

“I did what I had to do.” Gabriel gulped for air. God, he was shaking. So close to losing someone— _again_ —and his nerves had given up on trying to handle it.

He folded in on himself, arms tight around his legs. He was covered in Lewis’ blood, but his body felt strange, distant.

There was nothing he could have done for Tatiana, who wanted to be an accountant crunching numbers in some dreary office. Nothing he could have done for Poppy or Travis or Lucina or…god, Knowles, Peters, Reeves, the brave soldiers he’d met in Oregon who marched to their deaths happy to do their part. Gabriel’s nerves threatened to undo him.

There’d been a split second where he could have pushed the gun away and saved his cousin’s life.

But he had Morrison.

God, he could remember it so clearly—the smoke, the reek of burning flesh, the peppered sprays of gunfire—hauling planks of woods that seared his hands off his friend’s body, praying he was still alive, knowing that it wasn’t likely. But Morrison’s ash-covered chest had risen, and dazed blue eyes had looked at him.

“That night…” Gabriel couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice. His throat already threatened to swell shut. “How close was that? Honestly?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Tell me.”

“They said—they said if I’d been alone—”

“Shit, Jack.”

Gabriel worked his hands into fists against his skull and bit down on a cry. He was too hollow for tears, too worn out to feel anything but the dull pang of panic as adrenaline leaked out of his nerves.

He’d almost lost Morrison.

He’d almost lost _Jack_.

Morrison moved closer to him, his arm heavy on Gabriel’s back.

Fingers—warm—touched the back of his hand, and Gabriel realized that he was still shaking.

He tucked against Morrison’s body and allowed his head to roll onto a solid, steady shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Maybe it was Gabriel’s imagination, but he thought he felt fingers rustle through his hair. “He’s gonna be okay, Gabriel.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the reek of blood and the stiff, clinical scent of bleach.

It was going to be okay.

It _had_ to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	18. Chapter 18

November brought chilled nights to base, and tired recruits stumbled through the halls in layers of sweaters. Advanced training left his body sore and his mind working overtime, trying to see through Coordinator Castillo’s skull. He didn’t try to break into the halls downstairs, not even when he woke up in the middle of the night dreaming about Omnic hulls shined by rain, half-hidden among thick pines.

Gabriel dragged himself inside after a particularly brutal run, made difficult by a layer of snow on the grounds. It had just been him and Lewis, who stuck by his side whenever he could.

Morrison still hadn’t given him his sweater back, so he was bundled in a long-sleeved exercise shirt under a t-shirt. Gabriel wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the cold, and didn’t look forward to the push of the seasons.

He sat down on the floor in his dorm and stretched, working out sore muscles. His reflection stared back from the mirror. He looked like he’d gained ten years in the course of a week. Stubble had become a proper beard that almost hid the scar that curved up his cheek. His hair was long, and started to curl across his forehead. A few more weeks and his hair would spring up into wavy curls if he didn’t buzz it all off.

Would his family recognize him? He would tower over his 19-year-old self. He was almost a hundred kilograms. If he stood next to himself, they wouldn’t even look the same.

He heard the door slide open. Gabriel rolled his shoulder under his palm, fingers working hard into the muscles. “Tex?”

“It’s me.”

Gabriel lifted his chin with a smile. Morrison stood in the door, one shoulder against the frame, one hand holding it half open.

“Hey, Blondie.” Gabriel motioned for him to come in, and Morrison took short, awkward steps toward his bed. “How’d it go with Deschamps?”

Morrison shrugged loosely. “Same as always.”

He was wearing Gabriel’s sweater again. He let his eyes linger over his surname scrawled across Morrison’s chest.

Morrison sat down on the edge of the bed, shifting awkwardly as he settled, crossing and uncrossing his legs until he gave up and leaned forward over his knees. “You doing anything tonight?” He asked, his voice barely more than a short huff of air. “Um—”

“I’m skipping movie night,” Gabriel said, “I’m never going to watch  _The T_ _itanic_ again if I can help it.”

Morrison laughed a little, but he kept his eyes distant, trained on the pictures on the walls. “So—”

“So, yeah, I’m free. Something on your mind, Blondie?”

“I was talking to Dr. Ashhad—and I got thinking.”

Gabriel nodded. Morrison had been good on his promise to talk more openly, and some nights they discussed his appointments with the psychiatrist. Gabriel had gone through it once—with a therapist, however—after Joel had died, and knew a little bit about the doctor’s suggestions. It seemed to be working. Morrison was brighter, more eager, a little more outgoing.

Morrison pulled on the cuff of his sweater. “There’s, um—something I want to do, before we leave here. I mean, we don’t have an exit date. It could be tomorrow. So…”

Gabriel waited for Morrison to pick up the threads of the sentence, but he just wove a hand into his hair, lip pulled between his teeth.

“Sure.”

Morrison’s eyes snapped up. “Huh?”

“Wait. Are you telling me or asking me?” Gabriel tipped his head and smiled, and got a flash of a grin in return.

“Asking,” Morrison said, voice clearer, more confident. “Let’s, um—let’s go. It’s starting to get late.”

“It’s hardly past seven.”

Morrison hopped off the bed, his steps light. “Yeah. I know.”

He followed Morrison down darkened corridors, eyes catching the scene outside the windows. The moon was bright. The snow-covered grounds gleamed in the dark. A few thin clouds drifted across the sky.

Morrison hummed under his breath.

“You’re in a good mood today.”

“I am,” Morrison returned, “I feel good.”

“Yeah?”

He hummed instead of talking. It was one of those godforsaken Beach Boys songs. Gabriel smiled despite himself.

“So,” he said, “Where’re we going?”

Morrison glanced over his shoulder and smirked, still humming. He banked sharply to the left down the corridor toward Deschamps’ office. They paused by the end of the hall, where a stairwell started. It was a a few doors down from the cargo elevator.

He bumped against Gabriel’s shoulder. “Try to act like you’re not up to anything.”

“I’m not, as far as I’m aware,” Gabriel said.

“Good.” Morrison opened the stairwell door.

Gabriel followed, slow and careful, but Morrison didn’t seem to be too concerned about making noise. His eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. The staircase became a narrow corridor, damp with moisture and frigidly cold.

Glass windows gave him a view of a depot below, packed with supply trucks and massive skids packed tall with crates.

While he was looking, Morrison clicked open the depot access door and padded down metal stairs.

Down below, Morrison beckoned.

Gabriel’s stomach curled. What the hell did Morrison _want_?

His mind jumped to conclusions, and he felt his heart kick up pace. Morrison wouldn’t have dragged him down there for _that_ , right?

He shook the thoughts out of his head and climbed down the stairs. The thick reek of diesel fuel clung to his nose.

“Jack,” he hissed, “What are we doing?”

Morrison appeared from between two trucks and pulled on his arm. They wound through the depot, like Morrison had done this before. Maybe not just once.

The hand on his arm faded. Gabriel turned around to survey the depot. It was barely after dark. Where was the staff?

Metal groaned. He jerked his head back around to see a bar of light appear under a garage door. Morrison dropped to his stomach and rolled under it.

“Oh, no,” Gabriel growled, “Hell no, Jack.”

Morrison’s scruffy blond head poked back under the door. “What? There aren’t any guards. And I turned the cameras off earlier.”

“ _What?_ ”

“There’s nothing to worry about. You coming?”

Morrison’s breath spooled onto into the frigid air. Gabriel could already feel the creep of the cold on his skin and wished, again, that Morrison wasn’t the one wearing his sweater, even if he looked cute as hell in it.

“Goddamn it, Jack, it’s freezing.”

“It’s not so bad.”

Gabriel grumbled under his breath, but dropped to roll under the door anyway. Snow crunched under his shoes as he scrambled to stand again. Morrison used his foot to roll down the door most of the way, then slipped something from his pocket to hold it open a crack.

“This is ridiculous, Farm Boy.”

Gabriel tucked his shoulders up and hugged himself to ward off the chill. It really was a beautiful setting, with the dark shapes of the mountains all around them, the bright moon above, the sparkling snow underfoot. He’d never had a chance to enjoy winter, not like this. The cold cleared his mind but made his teeth chatter. “You’ve done this before,” he grunted, “Snuck out.”

“A few times,” Morrison said.

They were on the wrong side of the security fence. Gabriel stared hard at the three-meter concrete wall. “Jack…”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you’re not deserting.”

“Honest.” Morrison trudged ahead, moving over the truck path to the cover of trees. The facility loomed behind them, all smooth concrete. No windows. No cameras on the outside, either. It had looked impressive on his first day, but now it could have been anything, it was so unremarkable.

What they were doing wasn’t _technically_ against any of the on-base rules he’d agreed to. The only restricted areas were the scientist’s lounge and the staff dormitories. Curiosity propelled him, kept him on Morrison’s heels.

God, it was cold. He didn’t have a hat or a hood and his ears burned, his nose dripped, his eyes watered. Breaths stung in his lungs. Morrison, in nothing more than his sweater and regulation khakis, seemed just fine.

“Jack.” He didn’t try to hide the edge in his voice. The cold stole away the bite of it, anyway, made it wispy and weak. “I’m gonna need a few answers.”

“Sure, Gabe.”

Gabe. That was new. Morrison grinned at him, all pale and silver even in the shade of the trees.

“C’mon, don’t be that guy.”

“What?”

“You know how you don’t like being called John?” Gabriel cocked a brow. “Just Gabriel is fine.”

Morrison considered, quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, okay. Gabriel.”

He stopped by a shed of some kind. Morrison flung open the door—it wasn’t even locked—and pulled a hulking machine out. Gabriel had never seen one before, but he figured it was a snowmobile.

Morrison hopped onto it and slid a key from his pocket into the ignition.

Gabriel kicked snow at the machine. “Answers, Jack.”

“Oh,” Morrison said with a puff, like he’d actually managed to forget. “I’m going to Indiana.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m not running away with you.”

Morrison’s laughter spilled out with his breath, misting on the cold air. “I’m not running away at all. There’s something I need to do back home.”

Home. That struck Gabriel’s raw nerves. He crossed his arms and stood back, eyes dragging over the machine, over Morrison’s loose, relaxed body.

“Isn’t Indiana like, four states away?”

“Typical,” Morrison sighed, “The whole world revolves around California. No, it’s not. It’s a four hour drive from here, give or take.”

“In a _car_ ,” Gabriel pressed.

“There’s a cabin half an hour from here. They leave their keys in the house.”

“How—how long have you been planning this, Jack?” Gabriel shifted his feet. The cold was starting to bleed through his boots.

“A week.”

“Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, Gabriel.” Morrison grinned at him, the picture of ease, like he didn’t have a thing to worry about. “We’ll get there by eleven and have time to make it back before dawn. No one will even notice we left.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Hop on.”

Gabriel snorted. “Throwing my words back in my face, huh?”

“Yup.”

Gabriel had enough sense to know better, but Morrison looked good in a smile, in his sweater, breath misting into the cold air. Hard to say no to a face like that, but Gabriel made a valiant effort.

“If we get caught, we’re gonna get discharged.”

“So we don’t get caught.” Morrison lifted a brow. “You, uh, don’t have to do this. You can say no.”

“If I say no, are you going anyway?”

Morrison grinned. “Yep.”

Gabriel rocked back on his heels. The cold pricked at his toes and numbed his face. “You even know how to drive this thing?”

“Had one on the farm.”

“Ugh. Don’t get cute with me.”

“Can’t help it.” Morrison turned away, his smile fading until he was quiet and pensive. “I might not have a chance to do this again.”

Stomach sinking, Gabriel swung a leg over the machine. “Goddamn it, Jack.”

There wasn’t enough room on the seat for the both of them, and Gabriel felt a blush creep up his frost-kissed skin at the contact. He inched back, feeling self-conscious.

Morrison turned the ignition. The machine rumbled underneath him and jerked slightly as it worked over the snow. “Woah, hang on,” Gabriel grunted, “Where’s the—”

“Hang on to me,” Morrison said.

Gabriel didn’t need to be told twice. He shifted forward on the seat, his chest pressed to Morrison’s back, slowly curling his arms around Morrison’s waist.

The engine roared. Powdery snow flew up into his eyes, and Gabriel tucked his face in between Morrison’s shoulder blades. The machine lurched, throwing Gabriel’s weight back, then forward again as the gears shifted.

God, he hated winter and snow and hated the machine, too; the lurch of it made him want to be sick. Cold air rushed over his skin, ruffled through his hair.

He squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to panic, determined not to think about the narrow spaces between the trees and how easy it would be to get flung off. He curled tight around Morrison. He was so _warm_.

To Morrison’s credit, the ride was as short as he’d promised. The machine’s engine died down and was cut off with a twist of Farm Boy’s arm.

“Hey, Gabriel,” Morrison said, “We’re there. You can, uh—”

“I hear you,” Gabriel groaned. He slowly pulled his face away from Morrison’s back, untangled his arms. He was stiff and cold and shaking.

The cabin was little more than a shed, but there was a car hidden under a tarp. Morison climbed up the porch and jimmied the door open.

Gabriel sat on the machine, numb and useless, until Morrison returned, brandishing a pair of silver keys. “Ready?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Morrison,” Gabriel grunted.

A grin spread across Morrison’s face, like he was amused by Gabriel’s suffering. “Car’s got heat.”

Gabriel jumped off the snowmobile and shoved past him to work at the tarp, ignoring the laugh that left his friend’s lungs. Snow slid off the tarp and bit against exposed skin, but he could ignore it for the time being.

Morrison rounded the car, still laughing, working the door open.

“Get it started,” Gabriel demanded, “I’m fucking freezing.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Don’t pull that Midwesterner shit on me.”

Morrison shrugged loosely and ducked down to crawl in. The car was an ancient two-door coupe, nearly rusted out in the wells and sporting a bad paint job. The inside was musty and stale. He fell onto the seat as Morrison turned the ignition. The engine sputtered and caught, headlights coating the woods in yellow light.

“What’s that you said about heat?”

Morrison worked at the dashboard. “It takes a few minutes, y’know. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

“This thing got enough gas to make it to Bloomington?”

Morrison’s chin jerked toward him. Cold eyes narrowed. “I never told you where I was from.”

“So I read your file,” Gabriel shrugged.

“What?” Morrison looked more confused than angry.

“I was trying to figure out what the hell _A100_ meant.”

“Oh.” Morrison blinked hard at him, then fell back into his seat. “Deschamps thinks it can save my vision from deteriorating. I don’t know the details.”

“Wait—I know you told me trouble runs in the family, but—has it already started?”

“No,” Morrison said, “Maybe in five years.”

“Oh.”

Morrison clicked on the radio—static—shifted the car into gear, and lurched down the narrow road.

They powered through crunchy snow. A main road, black and covered in grains of salt, waited a short ways out from the copse of trees.

“Do you even have a driver’s license?”

“Stop worrying.”

“Fine.”

Gabriel leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When the heat finally kicked in, he relaxed, his muscles loosening.

-

The constant rolling mountains and the murmur of the radio lulled Gabriel to sleep. He dreamed of Oregon’s dark forests, about the gleam of Omnics moving in the dark.

He felt the car come to a stop, and lingered in the space between sleep and consciousness for a long, indeterminate amount of time.

The door clicked open. Light pushed against his eyelids. The car moved with the weight of Morrison climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Gabriel.”

He grunted a response and clenched his eyes shut tight against the light. “We there yet?”

“Almost,” Morrison said, “Hey.”

“What?”

It took all of his strength and concentration to crack open an eye. Morrison sat there, wearing a smile as bright as the moon, holding two paper cups of coffee. There was a black beanie on his head that hadn’t been there before.

Morrison pushed the cup of coffee against his chest. Slowly, he unfolded his arms to take it. “Oh.”

“You’re welcome.” Morrison shifted the car into gear. Gabriel let his head roll toward the window. A diner moved away from them. “If you’re hungry, I grabbed a few things.”

“You having fun pretending we’re on a road trip?”

“We are, technically,” Morrison said. “Though there isn’t much in the way of scenery.”

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep.” Gabriel pulled himself upright and set his coffee between his thighs so he could stretch out his sore arms. “You must be bored stiff.”

“Nah, you’re plenty entertaining,” Morrison said.

Gabriel made a face. Morrison smirked back.

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it. Better than snoring.” Morrison’s eyes dragged back to the road. Long fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

Gabriel was certain that he’d said something embarrassing, but Morrison danced around giving any indication, and he settled into his seat with his cup of coffee. The dregs of sleep captured his mind. God, he felt good, out on the road in the unknown. A thrill caught his heart and stilled his breath. The facility—SEP—seemed years distant.

He’d always wanted to go on a proper road trip. He and Miguel had attempted, once, and ended up spending two hours on the side of the freeway after the wreck broke down.

“Are we in Indiana yet?”

“Have been for a while,” Morrison said, “You must have been exhausted.”

“Guess so.” Gabriel glanced at the time on the dashboard. It was just past ten, which meant they were three hours in, give or take. “You want me to take the wheel for a bit?”

“Nah, I’m okay until we get there.”

“Fine.”

Morrison reached for the radio. Most of the stations were nothing more than static and a murmur of disembodied voices.

“It’s like the war didn’t touch this place at all,” Gabriel said, “Weird.”

“It’s not like Los Angeles, you mean.”

“Not at all.”

“Were you here?” Gabriel swallowed a mouthful of coffee. It was typical diner fare, and tasted like dirt. “When the Crisis started, I mean.”

“No,” Morrison said. “I was in Denver, actually.”

“I didn’t know you lived out there.”

“For a bit. Six months, I think.” Morrison paused to take a sip of his coffee. “After I dropped out, I—I didn’t want to go home. So I went west. Hitched rides, worked a few odd jobs to make money. I lived in Kansas for a while, saved up, took a bus. Got a job at a diner off the highway by the airport.”

“Bussed tables?”

“Yeah, washed dishes, made coffee. Swept up.” Morrison shifted in his seat. “That’s what I was doing. Making coffee for the regulars. The radio was so calm about it. Reporting Omnic attacks. And then the radio cut out, and I saw this fireball roll up from the airport. Fuel trucks, I guess.”

Morrison coughed to clear his throat. “We made it out of the city before the roads were blocked. I ended up in Nebraska, and—after things started to settle, I went back to Kansas.”

“And you stayed there until you came to Los Angeles?”

“Yeah.” Morrison rummaged in the seat compartment and pulled out a plastic-wrapped sandwich. “Hungry?”

“Nah.”

Morrison ate with one hand and flipped through the radio stations with the other, but Gabriel was too tired to complain about poor driving habits.

They talked about nothing in particular. Morrison liked exactly the kind of music Gabriel had imagined—Boston, Journey, CCR, America, old-fashioned stuff.

He was a bright spot in the darkness, his happiness nearly palpable. Gabriel could feel it spreading through him, a warmth that made his extremities feel fuzzy.

The clock ticked to midnight, and Morrison fell silent. They pulled off the freeway. Streetlights slowly faded away until they were left in the dark on a narrow paved road, with banks of snow of either side. Trees and old-style power lines ran along the road. Frozen fields stretched out around them.

“Guess this is Indiana, huh?”

“This is it.” Morrison fell quiet for a long moment. Gabriel watched him closely, but his expression was artfully neutral. They drove for what felt like eons down the road, straight ahead, until Morrison pulled to the side of the road and killed the lights.

Gabriel couldn’t see anything until the clouds cleared and the moon broke out to drape the fields in silver light. An unbroken layer of snow and ice crept up a small hill to a two-story farmhouse. Old, white clapboard, with a broad wraparound porch. A long, shoveled drive separated the house from a red barn and a grain silo. A huge tree crowded halfway up the field, partially obscuring the house with long, gnarled branches.

“Huh,” Gabriel said.

The house was plain, unassuming.

Morrison sat still in his seat, eyes stuck on the house, fingers tight around the steering wheel.

“Jack?”

“Alright.” Morrison reached for his door and let in frigid air. “Hey—Gabriel. Thanks for coming with me.”

“It’s no problem, Jack.”

He crawled out of the low-slung car and breathed in a lungful of cold winter air. It was a few degrees cooler than Missouri, but that was probably just because it was so much longer after dark. He could almost appreciate the beauty of the night that surrounded them. Morrison walked up the drive, shoes crunching in the snow, and Gabriel kept pace.

He felt like he should talk, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. It was a pretty place, stuck in time, but it didn’t _feel_ right. Morrison didn’t look right, either. He was white under the moon, all soft edges and muted footsteps. Quiet in a way that wasn’t quite like him, like he was holding his breath. Like he was afraid.

Gabriel rolled his hand into a fist. He wanted to slip his fingers against Morrison’s palm, to offer a bit of his strength and courage.

He bumped Morrison’s shoulder with his instead, and smiled despite the unease in his stomach. Morrison raised a brow, inviting him to speak. “This where you grew up?”

“Yeah.”

The huge, skeletal tree cast long shadows on the snow-covered ground. A gray shape poked up through the white blanket. Gabriel couldn’t place what it was until he ground to a stop to look at it properly. Curved gray stone marked _Astrid Morrison_.

The date was obscured by snow. Gabriel’s stomach plummeted to the ground. He turned around, breath leaving his lungs in a long puff, ready to say something, anything, but Morrison was already on the porch, peering into the front window.

Gabriel followed him up to the front door. “What are we doing, Jack?”

“He’s not home,” Morrison sighed. He tried the knob, then darted around, searching the mailbox, under the mat, the empty flowerpots.

Gabriel was starting to shake from the cold, and made an impatient sound. Morrison rolled his eyes, grabbed a rock from one of the pots, and smashed the little window set into the door.

Morrison reached in and unlatched the door.

It was deathly still and quiet inside. The place smelled dingy, dusty, like no one had lived there for years. The floorboards creaked under Morrison’s boots. A light snapped on, and Gabriel let his eyes wander.

It was bare. There were still curtains over the windows, and a pair of wooden rocking chairs in front of a fireplace, but not much else. It didn’t look like anyone had lived there for years. No personality to the place at all. It was just…cold.

“Does he still live here?”

Morrison came blocked the light from the kitchen. A weak smile played on his face. “He winters in Alabama,” he said. “With my Uncle.”

“Oh.”

Pathetic, but it was all he could manage.

Morrison disappeared into the house. Gabriel stayed in the living room, awkward and out of place, until Morrison returned, a set of keys dangling from his hand.

“What’s that?”

“Follow me.”

They stepped out the kitchen door. There was a garage behind the house that he hadn’t been able to see from the road. Morrison unlatched the door and rolled it up. A big, red pick-up truck—at least sixty years old—sat among junk and tools. It was musty and smelled a little like gun oil.

Gabriel nailed his foot on something and bit down on a curse as Morrison opened the truck door to crawl in. The engine rumbled, and Gabriel blinked hard against the headlights.

Morrison hung out the window. “Coming?”

Gabriel stood stock still, confusion winning out over curiosity. “Jack?”

Morrison grinned at him, and Gabriel pulled himself around the truck and into the passenger seat.

It was probably a bad idea, but the smile on Morrison's face forced his doubts away.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Blood (no gore)

The truck thundered down the drive and Morrison swung hard out onto the road. Gabriel struggled to find something to hang on to, fingers desperate and searching for the seatbelt. The engine roared at Morrison’s insistence, and tires worked hard to catch against the snow-dusted road. Gabriel’s heart leapt up into his throat and slammed hard.

Morrison pulled on the wheel and they veered off the road, hit the snow bank, and shot up through a ditch. Gabriel bit his tongue, hard enough to taste blood. “What the fuck, Jack?”

Morrison grinned at him, all teeth. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“What, jack a truck?”

He wanted to laugh. This was _ridiculous_. The headline would look great in the paper. _Two Super-Soldiers Escape from Top-Secret Government Program and Wreak Havoc in Rural Indiana_.

What happened if they got caught, anyway? Would they be killed off, like in old movies? Disciplined? Or just discharged?

The truck barreled over a field that was painted like a mirror under the moon. Snow flew up under the tires and powdered their wake. Morrison ripped the truck back and forth, in no set direction, grinning from ear to ear like he was having the time of his life.

“Okay, Jack,” Gabriel grunted, “You can stop to let me off anytime.”

Morrison cranked the truck into a spin and held onto the wheel. Momentum smacked Gabriel into the door and held him there, stomach twisting. God, he was going to puke.

When the truck veered straight, Gabriel slid the other way on the bench, slamming hard against Morrison’s shoulder.

They drove past an ice-covered pond. Headlights hit a line of trees and cast long, thin shadows.

Morrison put on the radio. Country music filled the truck.

“Fuck no,” Gabriel hissed. “I’m not suffering through that shit, Farm Boy.”

“Fine.” Morrison flipped through the stations, humming under his breath, delighted by the mess of tire tracks they were making on the field.

The truck jolted into a sharp right donut, throwing him back against the window.

It was all so surreal, but Gabriel knew there was no chance he was dreaming this. If he were, there’d be Omnics out on the field and fireworks in the sky. He hung onto the door handle for dear life as Morrison tore through the snow-covered fields. Morrison cranked the wheel and Gabriel slid across the bench again, cursing. He hit Morrison hard and turned his humming into breathy laugher.

“You cold or something?”

“What?”

Morrison grinned at him, all soft edges in the dim light. He eased off the gas and the truck slowed, and Gabriel sucked in a steadying breath. Heat rolled off Morrison’s body in waves, and the instinct to curl closer slammed into him like a shot of pure adrenaline. He held it at bay long enough to look away from Morrison’s dark blond eyelashes to the road, straight into the glare of an animal’s eyes.

“Shit, Jack—!”

Morrison hit the brakes. Gabriel’s face hit the dashboard.

Pain flared bright and hot. Gabriel was dimly aware of something wet and sticky on his face.

“Oh my God, Gabriel!”

The truck lurch to a solid stop. Gabriel peeled his face off the now-bloody dashboard and cupped a hand over his nose. He could barely register the pain past shock. “Fuck.”

Blood pooled in his hands and dripped through his fingers. He’d already made a rusty mess all over the dashboard, the front of his shirt, and the beige carpet.

Morrison’s hand was hot as a furnace on the back of his neck. He gently pushed down. Gabriel leaned forward until blood no longer ran down his throat.

“Shit, Gabriel, I’m so sorry. I thought you had your seatbelt on—”

“Sure didn’t, asshole.”

Morrison leaned behind him, reaching into the glove box. He pressed tissues against Gabriel’s hand.

He moved fast to intercept the steady stream of blood.

The hand on his neck moved to his cheekbone, and Gabriel winced. Morrison talked fast. “Let me look at you.”

Gabriel lifted his head a little, locking eyes. Morrison’s fingers brushed closed to the bridge of his nose. “You’re a little blue but I don’t think it’s broken.”

“And you’d know?”

“Broken mine a few times,” Morrison mumbled, “Playing hockey.”

“Figures.”

“What?”

“Ice sports.” Gabriel shuddered.

Morrison twisted around for the door and threw it open. Gabriel scowled at him. “It’s fucking freezing. Close the door.”

“The cold helps,” Morrison grunted. “Just…come out, will you? Let me try to help.”

“I think you’ve done enough.”

Morrison pouted. Honest to God _pouted_. “Please, let me try.”

How was he supposed to say no to those big blue eyes?

He held the tissues tight to his nose as he climbed out of the cab, feeling for purchase against the smooth, warm hood of the truck.

Morrison came around the front. “Head down,” he said.

Gabriel leaned against the wheel well and did as instructed, but jolted upright when Morrison came up with a fistful of snow.

“Get that shit away from me!”

“I don’t have an ice pack to give you.”

Gabriel glared at him, hoping his anger would translate through his eyes alone.

“It’ll help with the swelling.”

Morrison came toward him. Gabriel tried to jerk away and managed to tangle his legs together. He slapped a hand against the hood to halt his fall, but only slid toward the ground in the most awkward, uncomfortable way possible. Into more snow. Goddamn. It burned the palm of his hand and he hissed.

A sigh rumbled from Morrison’s lips. “You’re being dramatic. That’s fine.”

He dropped the snow and disappeared around the hood. Gabriel pulled himself up with the help of the door handle. At the very least, now his hand felt cleaner. He wiped his nose and mouth. The bleeding had stopped, for the most part. He gently prodded the bridge of his nose. It didn’t hurt too badly. Maybe Morrison was right about it not being broken.

Morrison came back with more tissues. “Head down.”

Gabriel complied. He didn’t complain as Morrison put fingers under his chin and dabbed at his nose. His skin prickled from the cold and the contact.

“You look like hell.”

“Your fault,” Gabriel groused.

“Hold still.”

Gabriel had half a mind to be embarrassed at the contact, but part of him liked being taken care of. Morrison’s touch was gentle, careful.

A calloused thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth. “It’s stopped,” he said, “You’re good.”

Winter was quiet. There was no sound of wind, or even the traces of animals. So far away from civilization it was dead, and every noise Morrison made felt like all the world could hear. Farm Boy climbed up the hood of the truck and sat with his back against the windshield, searching his pockets.

Gabriel couldn’t hide the chatter of his teeth if he tried. He wanted to ask for his sweater back. Maybe it’d smell like oranges, gun oil, and spent pulse munitions. Not that he could currently smell anything other than blood.

Morrison pulled something silver out of his pocket, and then a cardboard package. “Care to join me?”

He climbed up on the hood and folded up at Morrison’s side. The metal was still a little warm. “What have you got there?”

A sudden pop of color burned in the night. Morrison clamped a cigarette between his teeth and lit it, before scrambling for a second one.

“I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Oh?”

“You stomped one out on me, once,” Gabriel muttered, “Back when getting them was hell.”

“I quit before I started basic. Thought it was a bad habit.” His words were jumbled by the cigarette on his lips. He held one out to Gabriel. “Started again and had to quit again. You want one or not?”

Gabriel plucked it from Morrison’s fingers and let him light it. Blue eyes flickered orange.

“You could have said something. I would have left you alone.”

“It’s fine.”

Gabriel gave the cigarette a long, deep pull. He couldn’t really taste it, thanks to the blood coating the back of his mouth, but it felt good. “And here I was thinking you were just a boy scout.”

Morrison’s laugh caught on the air and thinned out. “Me? A boy scout? There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Gabriel.”

He liked the sound of his laugh, how simple it was, warm and smoky. “I’m willing to learn.”

Morrison puffed smoke out into the night. Gabriel watched his chest move with each inhale, each exhale.

Time wound around them, thick with the smoke in their lungs, sure as the pulse in their veins. It laid at their feet, somewhere past the frozen fields of Indiana.

His fingers started to feel the cold first. He tucked numbing fingertips under the sleeve of his shirt and crossed his arms to suppress a shiver.

Silvered blue eyes fell on him. “You’re still cold?”

“Why is that a surprise to you?”

Morrison hummed under his breath, breathed out smoke, and palmed the beanie off his head. “Here.”

He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the snow and leaned over to pull the hat down over his ears. It was warm, but a little scratchy. “Looks better on you, anyway.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet.

Morrison rustled in his pocket. He pulled out something small and square and held it between his hands. “This is what I came for.”

Gabriel thought it was a bible at first, but it wasn’t thick enough. Morrison ran his fingers along the edge.

“When I left home, I didn’t have a chance to take anything.” He kept his voice to a whisper, like he was afraid someone would overhear. His words wrapped around Gabriel, the only thing that existed in that moment. Warm, yellow. “Just the clothes on my back. At the time it didn’t matter. I was too angry to worry about things like this.” He flipped the cover open. “I thought about coming back for years, but I couldn’t face it. Even now—”

Morrison stalled. His mouth hung open, like he intended to finish the thought, but then his chest moved and mist curled into the air with a sigh. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s shoulder brushed against Morrison’s as he pulled his cigarette away from his mouth. “Give yourself a little credit, Jack.”

Morrison laughed a little. “There aren’t a lot of pictures around. Never took many. So…”

That’s what they were. Polaroids. Gabriel leaned closer to Morrison’s shoulder. He couldn’t keep the question off his tongue. “Why didn’t you take pictures?”

“Mom started losing her vision when I was little,” he said, “She was the one who liked them.”

He flipped to the front of the album. Each picture was a little bordered square, with handwritten squiggles for titles. He couldn’t read the writing.

A baby was wrapped up in a beautiful woman’s arms. She had dimples on each cheek and more freckles than he could count. There were lines under her eyes, but she was radiant, happy.

“You look just like her.”

A wan smile spread across Morrison’s lips.

The photographs ascended through the years. Toddler Morrison in plaid and rubber boots sitting on a tractor. Morrison waiting for the bus on his first day of school, wearing what looked like a hand-knit sweater. Morrison in a wide-brimmed hat at a fair of some kind.

The photos all had one thing in common. They lacked his father.

Morrison stopped halfway through the book. Gabriel looked up to see if he was crying, but he looked content, happy.

Ten-year old Morrison sat on the wraparound porch, bordered by blond, freckled family. His mother, his grandmother, his grandfather. All wore bright toothy smiles, even the dog who laid at their feet.

The pages were empty after that.

Gabriel dragged his eyes away from Morrison’s profile to the cold, moonlit fields. “What happened here, Jack?”

His faint smile faded. Morrison shut the album and set it on the hood of the truck by the pack of cigarettes. “They fought a lot. You know how kids always think they’re the reason? Well, I was. I kept getting myself into trouble, and they…wanted to deal with me in different ways.” He lifted blue eyes to the moon. Gabriel watched his mouth open to let out a breath. “When Mom died it got worse. Eventually…he got rid of me. I stayed with my grandparents until they carted me off to military school.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

Gabriel pressed his shoulder against Morrison’s. “What do you mean, it got worse? Did he—”

Morrison’s throat bobbed. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” His back straightened, and he swung around to face Gabriel, his expression suddenly grave and serious. “I’m just…I’m tired of running away from it, I guess.”

Morrison leaned back, breathed a sigh, and clunked his head against the windshield. Silence stretched between them, as wide as the frozen field. Gabriel’s heart hammered in his chest.

“You could have told me, Jack,” he said, “I would have—”

He didn’t know what he would have done. Gabriel curled in on himself, his stomach heaving. No kid deserved that.

“For a long time I just didn’t think about it. I kept myself distracted. Got into more trouble. Like I said, I’m no boy scout.” Morrison fumbled for the pack of cigarettes. “Want another?”

“Sure.”

They smoked in silence, until Morrison’s expression smoothed over and a short laugh burst from his lungs. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what?”

“My Dad loves this truck. He’s had it for years. Piece of shit but he treats it better than he ever treated me.” He thumped a hand down on the hood. “I could have died in Denver, or in Los Angeles, or back at SEP. No way I’m going back without doing this.”

“Without doing what, exactly?”

“I’ve always wanted to sink it in the pond out back.”

“You’re an asshole,” Gabriel chuckled.

Morrison cracked a smile. “You okay?”

“Me?”

Morrison quirked a brow. “You’re bleeding again.”

Gabriel couldn’t feel the trickle of blood under his nose, but he saw it shine on Morrison’s thumb to prove it was really there. Warm breath ghosted against his face. A strong jaw, smoothed by the night, was well within the reach of his fingers. He wondered what it would be like to run the pad of his thumb over Morrison’s mouth, to push his hands into soft blond hair.

Morrison pulled away and slid off the hood of the truck. “Let’s get this done.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel mumbled, “Let’s get this done.”

-

Morrison shifted the truck into neutral, climbed out, and didn’t let Gabriel start pushing until he’d signed his name into the dirt on the bumper. They put their backs together and wheeled the truck down a slight hill, waited for gravity to take over, and let it go.

It felt cathartic, even to Gabriel, even though the truck was a symbol in someone else’s life. Ice cracked and groaned, then broke, and black water swarmed up around the hood of the truck.

Morrison watched it sink down into the pond, then tugged on Gabriel’s sleeve.

They walked in silence past the barn, the farmhouse, the wizened black tree. Morrison fell behind the wheel of their stolen car and cranked the ignition.

They shot down the road, unseen, forgotten.

Gabriel’s head spun like he was drunk. Warmth dripped through his body. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

Once they were back on the freeway, Morrison started talking. The floodgates were open. “Thank you,” he said, “I mean it, Gabriel.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. Anything you need, anytime you need it, I’ve got your back. It’s only fair.”

Morrison was silent just for a moment before he started talking, about the song on the radio this time, then about the neighborhood, about his old school, then about sports teams.

Gabriel tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

-

Gabriel woke up when they passed over the state line into Illinois. The hour ticked to three in the morning.

“Tired?” he mumbled, “I can drive for a bit.”

He opened sleep-bleary eyes. They were slowing to pull into a gas station, deserted and empty.

Morrison parked the car and unlatched his seat belt. Gabriel made no move to follow, and earned a finger in his ribs.

“Come on. Up.”

“What for?”

“Don’t you want to stretch? Get a coffee?” Morrison prodded him again, and Gabriel let out a chuckle.

“Stop, I’m ticklish.”

Morrison lunged in again, fingers digging into Gabriel’s ribs, and he coiled away. “Fine! Fine! I’m up, okay? Geez.”

He followed Morrison into the gas station. He angled toward the bathroom, mindful of the blood coating the front of his shirt. He washed his face in the grimy sink and pulled off his shirt. The long-sleeved shirt underneath was navy blue, and hid the bloodstains better. When he came back out, Morrison was talking to the cashier.

Morrison leveled a smile at him. “You want more coffee?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel mumbled, “I’ll grab yours.”

“Thanks.”

He rubbed at his eyes as he walked along the to-go section. Morrison liked his black, so he probably liked dark roasts. He poured his first, then picked something a bit more exciting for himself. The bell over the door rang as Morrison left to fill the tank.

Gabriel took his time to measure out cream and sugar.

Something had changed.

He scratched at the beanie on his head. He felt light, carefree, _happy_. Being with Morrison felt easy. Simple. Gabriel carried the cups to the counter. The cashier gave him a tight smile, eyes tracing the bruise under his nose.

“Wondering what happened?” he asked.

The cashier just looked at him.

He tipped his head toward the door. Morrison was outside, watching the gas meter.

When Morrison came back Gabriel wandered away. It had been years since he’d been in a gas station. Seemed like a ridiculous thing to miss, but it was easy to pretend like the war didn’t exist, like he was eighteen again. The last time his life had seemed straightforward.

Morrison intercepted him before he could reach to open the driver’s side door. “Hold on—”

“You worried I don’t know how to drive?” Gabriel teased. “Please, I’m from—”

“No. It’s not that.” Morrison gently tugged the coffee from Gabriel’s hand and set it on the roof of the car. “It’s, um—” he reached into his pocket. Change jingled.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Spit it out, Farm Boy.”

“Here.”

Morrison grabbed his hand and turned his palm over to spill quarters into his hand.

The change was warm. “What’s this for?”

Morrison squinted at him, then dragged his eyes down the street, to a little booth under a streetlight.

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “Okay…”

Morrison tucked his other hand over Gabriel’s and squeezed tight, just for a second. “It’s a pay phone. Don’t tell me you’ve never used one before.”

“A—”

A _phone_.

“It’s midnight in Los Angeles,” Morrison said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can show you how to use it.”

Shock rolled through Gabriel’s body. He could—he could—

He could call _home_.

Gabriel couldn’t hold back on a laugh. It ached in his chest, and he pulled Morrison into a hug, arms tight around his neck, only to release him a second later, moving toward the booth.

Fuck Deschamps, he was going to tell his kid sister that he was okay.

He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. The phone looked needlessly complicated, or maybe it was just his nerves. His stomach gave a lurch, and Gabriel thought he was going to be sick right there on the sidewalk. Morrison swept a hand over his back, talking in a low whisper, explaining that he only had enough change for a few minutes. It was more than enough.

He pulled the receiver off the handle and punched in his home phone number.

There was a strong possibility the thing didn’t work, or that the lines weren’t connected to Los Angeles anymore, or that they weren’t home, or that they were asleep and wouldn’t answer the phone—

“Hello?”

Gabriel’s throat slammed tight. “F-Frankie?” he stuttered. His legs suddenly felt so weak that he couldn’t stand and he palmed for Morrison’s chest, curling a hand in his sweater.

“Uncle Jose, you better have a good reason for calling in the middle of the night. Ma and Pa are asleep.”

“No—” Gabriel squeaked, “—It’s me, Frankie. It’s me. Gabi.”

Silence. He heard a rattling breath and the clatter of something plastic. “This is a pretty sick joke,” she whimpered, “Who is this?”

Gabriel sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry, Frankie, I was on a mission and I didn’t have time to send a letter—I got moved, new division, top secret—”

“This isn’t…this isn’t funny.” He heard a sniffle on the line, and knowing that his kid sister was crying made him tear up. “My brother…my brother is…”

“It’s me,” he said, voice breaking, “It’s really me, Frankie.”

Everything came out in a rush of tears, on both ends. “I miss you so much, Frankie,” he said, “I love you, you know that? I never would have—I’m so sorry—I should have found a way, I should have—”

“—I miss you too,” Frankie sniffed, “I wrote you letters.”

“I know.”

“I kept sending them,” she whimpered, “And then they started coming back, and—”

“I know, Frankie, I know—”

He was crying, broken sobs rolling out from his lungs. His throat was so tight he could hardly talk.

He needed a moment. He was lightheaded and dizzy, and pulled the phone away from his ear. “I’m gonna be sick,” he groaned, “Talk to her.”

Morrison paled. “What?”

Gabriel shoved the receiver into his hand and stumbled away from the booth. Behind him, he heard Morrison give a soft hello. A second later he was chuckling, telling her that he was so nervous he was green.

He recovered fast. Morrison smiled at him. “He looks better, now. I’ll put him back on.”

“Hey, Frankie,” Gabriel gasped, “Can you go wake up Ma and Pa?”

She whispered an affirmative, and the line was silent.

He cried so hard that he couldn’t say anything, could only listen to his parent’s excited voices. He leaned against the booth, his grip on the receiver so tight that the plastic started to crack.

“I love you,” he sobbed, “I miss you. I still have all of your letters. I read them all the time. I miss you—"

He was a broken record. He had so much to say, but he could only manage to repeat himself, until he wiped tears away from his cheek and said, "It's really late. I can't talk much longer."

"Stay safe out there," his mother said, "We love you."

"Love you too."

The line went dead. Gabriel kept it up against his ear, waiting, staring hard at the machine. He put it back gently.

The world seemed far too quiet.

“Hey,” Morrison mumbled, “Are you okay?”

Gabriel let go of the receiver. Warmth slowly bloomed in his chest, and he let out a little laugh, bright despite his tears. He reached for Morrison and fell onto his shoulder, chest heaving with sobbing laughter, arms winding around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “Thank you.”

Morrison’s hands spread out across his back, warm and steadying, and Gabriel pulled him tighter. He listened to Morrison’s steady breathing, and couldn’t bring himself to move. He could feel Morrison’s pulse in his neck. He stayed there, hands spread out across the small of Morrison’s back, until their breathing synced.

He pulled away carefully, all too aware of the warmth that flooded his cheeks. “I’ll drive,” he said, “Is that okay?”

Morrison blinked slowly, then nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

He felt sure about one thing as he pulled his cup of coffee off the roof of the car and fell behind the wheel, Morrison at his side. It was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	20. Chapter 20

Gabriel searched through the radio, eager for something that wasn’t country music or from the previous century. Morrison sat back in his seat, still and quiet, eyes on the scene outside the window when he wasn’t offering directions. It felt good to be behind the wheel of a car. Gabriel couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such freedom.

His cup of coffee was long empty. Part of him ached to pull off the road and find a place to stop for another. A 24/7 diner, or a fast food joint, wouldn’t matter. There had to be something nice off the road. Far from an ideal first date, but—

Gabriel swallowed hard. He forced the thought away, determined to focus on the freeway. He dialed down the radio until it was a dull murmur. “Hey, Jack?”

“Mm?”

Gabriel’s grip tightened on the wheel. The words felt hard and sharp in his throat. “I might have said it already, but—”

Morrison laughed softly under his breath. “Gabriel, come on. It was nothing.”

No. It was definitely something. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of contacting his family while outside the facility’s walls, far from Deschamps’ eyes. Thanks to Morrison, they knew he was alive.

It took the sting out of what had happened the week before. In any case, there were things that Morrison would never _really_ be able to understand, just like there were things that had happened to Morrison that he could only empathize with.

He’d just been a kid. No one deserved that. His heart surged, and he stole a glance at his friend. He was still and pensive, staring into space, lost somewhere deep in his thoughts.

“What’s on your mind?” Gabriel asked, voice soft and careful. The late hour had completely worn down Morrison’s walls, and Gabriel wanted to let his down, too. If he were being honest, he would have been happy to turn around and head back, to sit on the hood of the pickup truck, lost in a slip of time with nothing but words and cigarette smoke between them.

Morrison’s murmur was so quiet Gabriel almost couldn’t hear him. “She remembered me.”

“Who did?”

“Your sister.” Morrison tapped his fingers on his thighs. Gabriel watched the flex of the digits. Somehow it was very distracting, and Gabriel had a tough time keeping his eyes on the road.

“You’re surprised?”

“Well, yeah,” Morrison said, “I mean, I don’t know. That was two years ago. She was just a kid. I was just—nobody.”

Gabriel reached over and grabbed Morrison’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “You’re not nobody, Blondie. She’s got a good memory. And I might have talked about you a bit in my letters.”

The words were out and free before Gabriel could bite down on his tongue. He let his hand slip away from Morrison’s shoulder and rested it on the gear shift. Warmth lingered on his palm.

“Oh?”

There was something in Morrison’s voice—something different—but Gabriel couldn’t place it.

“Don’t get too excited,” he muttered. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks, and kept his expression neutral and eyes focused straight ahead. “I wrote her about everything. Whatever was on my mind. And yeah, I thought about you all the time. Worried, mostly. Didn’t know what happened to you. I just—” Gabriel stalled. So much for trying to play it cool. “You kind of made a good impression on my family. She was a little worried, too.”

“But she didn’t know me,” Morrison murmured.

“You don’t have to know someone inside and out to care about them,” Gabriel said, “Sometimes you just do. Total strangers or not. It’s called empathy.”

“You know, I always wondered.”

“About what?”

Morrison leaned into the backseat and came back with a bottle of Coca-Cola. He popped it open and took a swig. “Why you stopped to talk to me.”

“Oh, come on.” Gabriel tugged at the brim of his beanie, wishing he had a hood to pull up. Morrison’s eyes on him made him feel hot under the collar and exposed at the same time, like he could read his thoughts. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“Some asshole was going to mug you.”

“That’s it?’

Gabriel stared straight ahead. “Well—I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he muttered, “I try not to assume shit about anyone, but you looked like you were from out of town, and, I don’t know. Thought I’d make sure you got wherever you were going safely.” It was the truth, but…it didn’t feel like the truth. Gabriel’s throat was starting to feel dry, like the words had sucked the energy out of him. “I didn’t put that much thought into it. I just felt like talking.”

Morrison nodded, but remained quiet for a long moment. He held out his bottle of Coke. “Want some?”

“I’m more of a Pepsi guy.” Gabriel flashed a toothy smile and took it anyway. It tasted weird after so many years without. No soft drinks back on base in Oregon. None at SEP. “Thanks.”

Morrison reached for the radio. He flicked through local stations, pausing to listen before tuning to the next. His hand bumped against Gabriel’s, and he felt the touch like an electric shock. Sucking in a long, slow breath, he readied himself for the question he’d been holding back on. “What did you two talk about?”

Morrison kept his eyes trained on the dashboard, dialing until he landed on something that came in clear. “I love this song,” he murmured, turning it up enough that Gabriel could make out the words. It sounded like Neil Young. It probably _was_ Neil Young, if he’d learned anything about Morrison’s archaic taste in music.

He hummed softly under his breath. The sound was nice, and Gabriel relaxed, some of his tension dripping away.

“We talked about you,” Morrison said.

“Right.”

“Well.” Morrison twisted in his seat, pulling hard on his seat belt. Gabriel figured the thing was digging into his shoulder. “I told her how well you were doing. How much everyone looks up to you. She laughed at me, said that wasn’t news.”

“She’s sweet.”

“She’s a great kid,” Morrison said. He fell silent again, turning his head to look out the window. “She asked me for a favor.”

“Oh?”

Morrison leaned forward a little, then shifted back in his seat. He drummed his fingers against his thighs. Whatever it was, it was making Morrison fidget. Gabriel could almost see his nerves show under his skin. Morrison pushed one hand into his hair, drew in a sigh, and leaned away against the window. “She told me to tell you she’s getting straight A’s.”

Gabriel snorted. “Of course she is.”

Morrison kept his head tipped toward the window. “Take the next exit,” he said, “And we’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Sure.”

He put his blinker on even though the road was dark and empty behind them. They pulled off onto a small, narrow road. Gabriel slowed a little below the speed limit, knowing that it would be impossible to see a deer through the copses of trees on either side of the road.

He caught glances of frozen fields between the gaps in the trees.

Quiet wrapped around them. It was almost comfortable. He set his hand back on the gear shift. “You know, you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”

“It’s not that.” Morrison shifted forward. Gabriel glanced over at him, before tearing his eyes back to the road.

“What is it?”

“Just—I’m thinking too much.” Morrison let out a sigh.

“You okay?”

Gabriel waited for an answer, eyes trained on the road ahead. It was tough to see much with the car’s weak headlights, and the moon wasn’t much help when it was hiding behind clouds.

“She asked me to look after you,” Morrison said.

Gabriel let out a soft, short laugh. “Of course she’d be worried.” He let his laughter fade away into a sigh. “I wish I could see them again, before—”

Before he was buried in a mass grave.

The image slammed into Gabriel’s chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

He never thought about dying.

“Gabriel?”

He felt Morrison’s hand against his sleeve and jerked against the seat belt, cracking an uneasy smile. “I’m fine,” he grunted, “Hey, who’s this by?”

“Neil Young.”

“Fuck, I knew it.” Gabriel swallowed his nerves and dialed it up, and a grin grew on Morrison’s face. “You and your retro shit.”

“You don’t like it?” Morrison tapped his fingers on his thighs along to the beat, his teeth bright in the dark. “I love it. I always wanted to learn the riffs.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Morrison hummed for a few long moments. “I was just a kid. Didn’t have the money for a guitar. But…the neighbor kid gave me a harmonica for my birthday one year.”

Gabriel clamped back on a laugh. “No way.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Morrison laughed, “We used to sit on the porch and play together. It was nice.”

“Country boy.”

“Keep me searching for a heart of gold…” Morrison half sang, half talked, his voice surprisingly warm and pleasant, even if he was a little off-key. “I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold…”

“What does that even mean?” Gabriel reached for the radio, and Morrison let out a protest as he turned through the stations. “You were born an old man, you know that?”

“Been told a few times.”

Morrison smiled at him, soft and serene in the moonlight. Gabriel’s heart gave a quick, tight squeeze.

He turned the station back, but the song had ended.

“This is a good one, too.”

“You really like music, huh?”

“Who doesn’t?” Morrison reached for the dial, fingers brushing against Gabriel’s knuckles for a fleeting second. “This one was fun to play—”

“Supertramp? Seriously?”

“You know, for all your digs, you know all these bands,” Morrison said. “Take the long way home…”

Gabriel rested back in his seat, happy to listen to Morrison’s soft singing. “I’m trying to picture you playing a fucking harmonica. It’s pretty damn funny.”

Morrison elbowed him hard in the ribs, singing louder to drown him out. “When lonely days turn to lonely nights, you take a trip to the city lights—”

“—And take the long way home,” Gabriel sang. He didn’t have the voice for it, but Morrison started laughing, bright beside him.

It was still a few hours before the sun would rise, but Gabriel didn’t want to think about the warm yellow sun. If this night could stretch on forever, he wouldn't have too many complaints.

“Does it feel that your life’s become a catastrophe? Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy.” Morrison sang softly under his breath, and Gabriel listened, rapt. “When you look through the years and see what you could have been, oh, what you might have been—”

In another life, maybe—

“—If you’d had more time.”

“You’ve got a pretty good voice, Jack.”

Morrison rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I’m getting nostalgic.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. It’s cute.”

Gabriel bit down on his tongue. Shit.

“Cute?” Morrison almost sounded offended, and Gabriel wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“It’s nice, that’s all,” Gabriel muttered, tugging at his beanie. “You’re usually so quiet.”

Morrison stirred in his seat, mouth clamped into a tight smile. He pulled his hands away from the dashboard and sat back with them crossed over his chest. “They played this kind of stuff at the diner in Denver. Boss let me pick out the playlists after a while.”

“You ever find yourself wishing things could be normal?”

Narrow eyes turned on him. Gabriel kept his trained carefully on the road ahead. He could see the dark shapes of mountains in the distance. They were almost back.

“No. I don’t know. I never really had a normal,” Morrison said, “Not like you did.”

“Shit, Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. I can think about a future.” Morrison turned down the radio until it was only a dull murmur. “It’s nice to have that.”

“What do you mean?”

Morrison traced circles on his khakis with a long finger. “I mean that before—I didn’t want to die. I don’t know what I wanted. An end, I guess.”

The shadows curved under his eyes, and Gabriel was back in his bedroom in Los Angeles, lifting his head from a pillow as Morrison woke with a start from a dream. A second later the illusion lifted. A part of him had known, all those years ago.

“I look forward to the morning, now,” Morrison said, “I have a future because of you.”

Gabriel reached over and touched his fingers to the back of Morrison’s hand, feather-light, just to reassure him.

Morrison turned his hand over, and Gabriel traced his fingers along his warm palm before letting his hand settle.

The contact had his heart slamming hard in his chest. Something about the touch was both comforting and terrifying. God, Morrison’s skin was so _warm_ , and he didn’t really mind the scratch of his callouses, not when he had his own. He squeezed his fingers tight, and an electric shock rolled up his arm.

“Left here,” Morrison said softly.

Gabriel brought the car down a narrow, tree-lined drive. The tiny cabin appeared in the yellow wash of the headlights. The hour—had it really been that long?—was gone, and it was time to lift his head out of the fog.

He backed the car into the spot where’d they’d found it, killed the engine, and sat back, his hand still twined with Morrison’s. “You know,” he muttered, “I’m glad I went with you.”

“So am I,” Morrison said, “Thank you.”

It would be easy to push against Morrison’s shoulder, to lean in close and swallow the space between them with a kiss. Morrison fidgeted in his seat, knocking one knee against the door.

“Hey, Jack?” Gabriel whispered.

“Hm?”

Gabriel tipped his head, locking eyes with Morrison. The darkness made his eyes softer. The war felt a hundred years distant, like it hadn’t touched either of them, hadn’t taken their lives and thrown them together. They never would have met, otherwise. Morrison would probably still be at that damned diner in Denver and he’d be finishing up his bachelor’s degree, spending his spare time coasting through the city. No use in thinking about it.

Morrison was looking at him expectantly. Gabriel was going to ask him something, but he couldn’t think straight.

He squeezed Morrison’s hand and let him go, reaching for the door. He let in cold air and breathed in sharply. They had to go back. The illusion of peace was just that, a fantasy.

Morrison rounded the hood of the car, pulling up the tarp. He held out his hand and Gabriel gave him the keys. “Left some money in the glove box,” he said, “Hope that makes it up to whoever lives here.” He pounded up the steps and disappeared into the cabin.

Gabriel let his eyes fall on the snowmobile. He prodded at it with his foot. Back where they’d started, the whole night was compressed to a single stream, like he’d been standing in one place the whole time. Like it hadn’t been real.

Beams of light cut through the dark. Snow crunched under approaching boots, and Gabriel felt his stomach sink.

Morrison came out of the cabin, and cursed softly under his breath.

“Ah, there you are, boys,” a tech called out, “Good call on the shed, Jonesy.”

“You should listen to me more often,” the other tech replied curtly.

Gabriel lifted his hands up in surrender, even though they were only holding flashlights, and offered a quick grin. “Hey, uh—how’s it going?”

“Oh, well, you know, it’s cold as balls out here and we got woken up to look for you six hours ago, but it’s no big deal,” the tech grunted, grinning despite the chatter of his teeth. “Thanks for wasting our time. Were you two holed up here all night? God, there are good places _inside_ to fuck.”

“You would know, huh?”

“Come on, Hank, let’s not do this in front of the subjects,” Jonesy grunted. “You two deserting? No? Great.”

Morrison nudged against his shoulder. The techs turned on their heels, sweeping the forest with their flashlights, apparently convinced that the two of them would follow without being asked. Their chatter became a dull murmur, and the roar of a snowmobile engine ripped up into the night.

“Well,” Morrison mumbled, “I didn’t think we’d be missed but, uh—” he winced before pushing a hand into his hair, smiling meekly. “Sorry.”

“Worth it,” Gabriel grunted. He swung an arm around Morrison’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “You trust me to drive us back on that thing?”

“Hell no.”

“Figured you say that much. Just one more thing, before we go back and get strip-searched.” He prodded at Morrison’s pockets. “Give me a light, Blondie.”

-

Gabriel sat on a cold examination table, grinning even though his nurse had her hands on his bruised face. She had a lively, joyful way of telling the story. As it went, Lewis had gotten up to come find him. Upon finding his room empty, he and his friends had scoured the facility before running to the med wards in a panic. His nurse was pulled into the hunt, then Dr. Hale, before Deschamps was alerted and the facility was locked down. No alarms had been raised, which Gabriel found suspicious, but not entirely surprising.

Shortly after he was dismissed dawn broke, and he ate his breakfast while ignoring the horrible guesses his friends were making at where he’d gone. Kowalski had the nerve to ask if they’d really been shacking up, like one of the rumors went, and Gabriel choked on his coffee, patting a hand on her back, laughing and avoiding an answer.

It was a little fun to mess with them, but Olsen was a storm that couldn’t be avoided.

She challenged him to a spar and grinned wickedly at him from across the mat. They spoke between strikes and jabs, Olsen throwing out accusations, Gabriel dodging them.

She flipped him onto his back and drove her metal elbow into his solar plexus. He dodged heavy punches and reciprocated by wrapping his legs around her waist and throwing her off, but she bounced back, relentless. Gabriel squeezed her into a headlock and tried without success to get his legs around her. She thrashed and twisted in his arms, giggling under her breath. A bite surprised him, and she wiggled free.

A kick to side had him curling up on the mat. He blocked a flat palm that aimed for his nose. “Easy, Tex.”

“You think an Omnic will go easy on your ass?”

“Yeah, I’m really worried about getting in a wrestling match with a Bastion unit.”

She bore down with light, playful smacks against his chest and shoulder before sitting back, her laughter dying out into a hum. “Always gotta be prepared, Thirteen.”

Gabriel flopped back on the mat, face contorted and tongue stuck out.

She leaned over him for a towel and thew it against his face. “You look like shit, kid.”

“You’ve told me a few times.”

Olsen’s lips curved into a smirk. She checked over her shoulder. The gym was almost empty, except for a few military school kids on the treadmills. “So,” she said, “Blondie’s finally fucked off. Give me the juicy gossip.”

Gabriel glanced behind her. Morrison had been at the weight rack just a few minutes ago, watching his usual Olsen-administered ass-kicking with a sly smile.

“Well?” Olsen prodded him in the ribs, then slid off him, landing cross-legged on the mat. “No need to be shy, kid.”

Gabriel hummed under his breath. “You already know the story.”

“You gave me the PG version,” Olsen whined.

“We went to Indiana. End of story.” He grunted as one of Olsen’s fingers jabbed him in the stomach, making him flinch. “He asked, we went, we came back. Happy?”

“You’re leaving out the fun bit. Like how this happened.” She reached for his face, and Gabriel lacked the energy to move his head away. Fingers traced the black bruise on the bridge of his nose. “Fighting or fucking?”

Gabriel barked a laugh. “Who the hell breaks their nose fucking?”

“So, fighting then? You seemed pretty cozy with each other.”

She dug fingers into his sides. Gabriel squirmed under the assault, gasping for breath between deep, bellowing laughter. “Come on,” he grunted. “It was nothing.”

“Are you always this coy? Or just with Blondie?”

Gabriel rolled away from her, but she shimmed after him, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m not your mother. You can tell me if you got laid.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“You kiss, at least?”

Gabriel leveled a glare at her. “Ever consider that maybe it’s not your business?”

His harsh tone rendered Olsen quiet and still. Her smile faded, and she sat back, knees pulled to her chest. “Oh, Reyes—I’m sorry. I was just teasing. I didn’t realize there was more to it.” She inhaled a long, deep breath, then puffed out a sigh. “I mean, you two spend so much time together. I just figured—I don’t know. If you’re just friends—”

Gabriel jerked his chin away. Olsen let out a quiet _oh_ and tugged on his arm.

God, he didn’t want to tell her. Part of him wanted to beat his feelings down and leave them broken and forgotten.

Part of him just wanted to be close to him, friends or otherwise, it didn’t matter.

“I don’t know, Tex,” he muttered, “It’s easier just to ignore it, right? We’re going back to war, and—even if he did feel the same, I’ll probably never see him again the second we’re out the door.”

“Isn’t that more reason to make a move now? Nothing to lose?”

He felt Olsen’s hand brush against his hair and curled up against her side, sighing at the contact. “I don’t think I could handle it,” he muttered, “I don’t know. Drop me out of a helicopter over an active Omnic stronghold with nothing but a rifle, I’m fine. But this—”

“Have you ever… _been_ with someone?” Olsen asked.

“I’m twenty-two,” he grunted.

“That’s not what I mean.” Olsen spread her fingers through his hair, nails dragging pleasantly against his scalp. “I mean been _with_ someone.”

Gabriel swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Long time ago.”

“It end badly?”

“You could say that.”

Olsen hummed under her breath as she pulled her hands through his hair. Her chest rumbled with the vibrations. “I ever tell you about Luke’s father?”

“No.”

“We met in high school. Sixteen. He’d just moved from Xalapa. We got along just fine at first. I helped him with homework or translations, you know. Little stuff. We weren’t much more than friends.” Olsen paused to draw him closer to her shoulder. The contact felt nice, but Gabriel didn’t think it was for his benefit. “I liked him, but I didn’t want to be more than just that. I was thinking about ROTP. Figured I’d get moved and have to leave everything behind, so what was the point? So, I left. Moved out. At first I thought about him all the time, and then things settled. A few years in I went home on leave, and we met again. And I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“I don’t know. Just…knew.” Olsen shrugged. “My leave was only a few months, but they were the best goddamn months of my life. We got married on a whim. Found out I was pregnant a few months later, after I was back on base. Luke’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Hard being a long-distance Mom, but we made it work. Carlos stayed home.”

Gabriel’s throat felt tight. He knew what came next, somehow.

“I got the letter a month after the first strike,” she said, “He was killed during evac.”

She drummed her fingers against his skull after a long, silent moment. “I miss him like hell but I don’t regret taking that leap for one goddamn second,” she said. She reached inside her shirt and pulled out her dog tags. He realized then that he didn’t actually know her first name, and was surprised at what was stamped there. _Evangeline_. There was a gold ring hanging against her tags.

She rubbed her thumb over it before tucking it back under her shirt. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day,” she said, suddenly quiet, looking pensive and thoughtful, a small smile on her lips. “Take it easy, okay?”

“You too, Tex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	21. Chapter 21

Gabriel tapped his fingers against the side of the chair in Dr. Hale’s office, mindful of the _tick tick tick_ of his nails against plastic. It sounded a little like gunfire. The sound felt strange, ancient. He’d held a pulse rifle in his hands only days before, but he couldn’t remember the weight of it in his hands. He felt like he was nineteen instead of twenty-two, like the trip to Indiana had reset the clock.

The doctor worked over files and swept through his tablet, humming under his breath. A small, simple smile tugged at his mouth. Dr. Hale had to be well past retirement age, but he was lively and jovial like a kid, and Gabriel was surprised at how much he’d actually grown to like the guy, even if he did look like a dead man walking.

He didn’t feel nervous. The feeling that coiled in his gut was lighter. Impatience, maybe, with a bit of an edge. Gabriel cleared his throat, hoping the noise would spur Dr. Hale into action.

Coordinator Castillo and Deschamps had dragged Morrison away after a _very_ loud yelling match in the mess hall. Why they had to do this separately, he didn’t know. Why he was passed over to his _doctor_ was another great question.

“How about we cut to it?” Gabriel flashed a quick smile. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He lifted a pale hand. “No rush. Shall I call for coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

He pulled his glasses off his nose. Without them, his eyes seemed too small. “You have an exemplary record, Mr. Reyes. But this was a grave lack of foresight on your part. Not like you.”

“At least, according to my records.”

A small, cheeky smile quirked on Dr. Hale’s mouth. “Yes, exactly. I see only one recorded case of failing to follow the chain of command, and I see that it landed you a promotion. Must be a great story.”

Dr. Hale tucked his chin into his hands and waited, like Gabriel was really going to tell him about that mission in Oregon.

When he was still and silent for a long moment, Dr. Hale gave up. “I see that you were stationed with Mr. Morrison in the past. Perhaps you felt protective of him and stepped in to keep him out of trouble?”

“What kind of trouble do you guys think we were up to, anyway?”

During their initial lecture, Deschamps had thrown wild accusations, but neither he or Morrison had given her anything to sink her teeth into. Not that he had much to hide, but watching her lose her cool over it was fun as hell.

“It was his idea, wasn’t it? I see you’re not defending that.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Trying to be supportive.”

“Right. Of course.” Dr. Hale drew back, flipping through a file. Morrison’s picture and number flashed by. “His records are confidential, as you know. We can’t discuss such personal matters. But if it matters, I’m glad he’s found help. Dr. Ashhad is quite fond of him.” He paused to close the files, setting them to the side of his desk. “I’m supposed to be reaming you out, but I’m not really interested. Never cared much for conflict, myself.”

“You ever serve, Dr. Hale?”

His pale eyes lit up. “I did. Feels like a lifetime ago. I think I was around your age. Navy.” Dr. Hale paused, reclined, then gave him a little wave of his hand. “Alright, consider the lecture over,” he said. “Let’s talk about this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Gabriel was exhausted, but he perked up in his seat.

“It’s a surprise, really,” he whispered, “We’re heading to Park Hills. I have a few good friends there, I’m quite excited.”

“Sister facility?”

“Oh yes. One of a few. But that is neither here nor there. I really shouldn’t be talking about this at all. It would rile Olivia to no end.” A devilish smile crept across his pale mouth. “They have an incredible simulated environment there. Need something to get everyone back in shape before—well. You know.”

“It’s almost over, isn’t it?”

Gabriel felt a lump rise in his throat. A month ago he would have been exuberant at the mere mention of going back to war. Not that he wanted to stay in SEP, though.

Dr. Hale’s sigh was light and thin. “We have a very real chance of turning the tide of this war, Mr. Reyes,” he said, “I know you’ll do well in the simulations.” He folded his hands on his desk. “I’m sure Deschamps will come looking for you. Better to bite the bullet.”

“Thanks for the chat, doc.”

“Anytime, Mr. Reyes.”

-

He felt lighter back out in the cool, clinically clean hall, even if the smell of bleach was overpowering. He let his mind work around the facts, filling in the blanks as he walked. The pieces seemed to float on the air in front of him. A100 was just a serum for Morrison’s vision. Chances were that Perrault hadn’t been taking the same thing, which meant that something else had caused his visit to the wards. And Deschamps was unreasonably upset when no one else was. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he was exhausted, but he made up his mind about going back to the basement if he could. Her files had to have something else.

For now, he supposed Dr. Hale was right—he'd go and face her. Morrison might want some backup.

He stood in front of the door to her office for a long time, listening to their voices. Coordinator Castillo was probably inside, but he might as well have been absent. The conversation was one-sided, just Deschamps’ ripping Morrison a new one.

“…Everything I’ve done for you—everything _we’ve_ done for you—you put it all at risk.”

He could almost _see_ Morrison wincing, sitting scared and quiet in his chair.

“Fighting, contraband—”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Shut up.”

Hairs rose on the back of Gabriel’s neck. Anger bubbled up under his skin, and his focus narrowed. He could picture them inside, staring each other down over her desk.

“You were _nothing_ until I brought you here,” Deschamps snarled, “You keep this up, you’ll be nothing again.”

Gabriel’s stomach churned. He pressed back against the wall. If he walked in there, would he only make it worse? Or could he diffuse the situation?

Something slammed against glass. “What did you just say to me?”

Gabriel’s heart kicked up pace. His body was sore and aching and exhausted but he set a hand on the doorknob anyway, half afraid, half worried.

Morrison’s response came in a mumble he couldn’t make out.

Quiet. Gabriel never liked it when Deschamps was quiet; it meant that she was calculating her next move. Morrison said something else, and he heard the scrape of a chair and the squeak of boots, following by a second thump. Gabriel’s grip tightened on the door.

“Get out.” Deschamps again. “Think about what I said, Jack, or you won’t have a career to worry about.”

Idle threats. How kind of her.

Gabriel walked a few paces down and waited until the door clicked open and Morrison barreled out, red-faced and clearly agitated. He stormed past Gabriel, his expression tightly wound. Boots thudded hard against the floor. Gabriel followed, partly because he was worried, and partly because he didn’t want to have anything to do with Deschamps after listening to that. Morrison angled into the showers. Gabriel didn’t follow.

Up in the common room, Carson was mediating between Kowalski and Lewis in front of the holoscreen. Gabriel approached, one brow raised, and the three of them quieted to a hush, standing to attention. He scoffed at that.

“Hey,” he grunted, “We need to do something nice tonight.”

“Nice?” Lewis slid his hands onto his hips. “I can think of a few things…”

Kowalski shot him a withering look. “Jeff, please.” Turning back to Gabriel, she brightened, lips stretching wide in a smile. “What’s up, Thirteen?”

“Jack’s going to be in a pretty sour mood,” he mumbled, “And I think Tex could use a pick-me-up. So shoot.”

Carson plopped down on the couch. He shrugged loosely as he surfed through channels.

Kowalski thumbed at her chin, looking thoughtful. “I’d suggest alcohol. Too bad we can’t get any.”

“I might have an idea,” Lewis said, “Come on, follow me.”

Lewis sprang away down he hall. Gabriel and Kowalski shared a look before following. She brushed against his arm, still grinning. “He get chewed out?”

“Yup.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t think they care too much about what I do,” he said. “It’s all on Jack’s head.”

“Too bad,” she muttered. “And Tex?”

“Talked about some heavy shit. She’s probably fine, but let’s do something nice anyway. She would for us.”

Kowalski’s arm wound around his. “Damn right she would.”

Lewis popped his head out of his dorm, his arms laden with sheets and blankets.

“It’s not laundry day, Jeff,” Gabriel muttered.

“Please.” Lewis sauntered down to Kowalski’s door and opened it with his foot. “Yeah, that’s what I was going to do as a nice gesture. Their _laundry_. Come on, man. Give me a hand.”

Kowalski let out a little squeak and disappeared into her room, coming back a second later with her comforter over her shoulders and her pillows tucked under her arm.

“Okay,” Gabriel grunted, “Answers.”

“Haven’t you ever built a pillow fort?” Lewis pushed past him, Kowalski on his heels. Lewis spun around, walking backwards, grinning. “Grab some blankets, Thirteen. Join us in the commons.”

Gabriel shrugged off the absurdity of it. Olsen would probably get a kick out of it, but he wasn’t sure about Morrison. He supposed it didn’t matter either way. They gathered to watch movies whenever possible, and they hadn’t gotten all of them together since advanced training had started. Maybe it was exactly what they needed. Something cute and childish.

Gabriel changed out of his khakis into the infinitely more comfortable sweatpants and pulled on his UCLA hoodie. It was tight across his shoulders, and wouldn’t zip up anymore. Gabriel pulled his comforter free and stalked back down the hall, feeling more at ease the second he saw his friends darting around the commons, earning confused stares from other inductees.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said to a group of them, “You’re welcome to join.”

Lewis and Kowalski had moved the couched to center around the holoscreen. How they managed that when it looked like Carson hadn’t moved was a mystery. Gabriel dumped his comforter on the up-ended coffee table.

The fortress was put up in record time. Gabriel had the sneaking suspicion that Kowalski and Lewis had done this before; they moved in tandem, like two parts of the same being, never once bumping shoulders or stopping to communicate what went where. When Kowalski needed to reach the ceiling Gabriel hoisted her up on his shoulders, and in the end, it was quite the fortress. Gabriel wandered down the hall with Lewis on a mission to beg for popcorn and snacks from the kitchen staff. He stole a glance back. It was dark outside the windows and someone had hit the lights. The soft, diffused blue of the holoscreen bled through the sheets and blankets.

The last time he’d built a pillow fort, Frankie had been eight years old. It was during the winter before the Crisis, January or February. Ma and Pa had gone out of town, leaving him to take care of his two younger sisters, and they’d built a garish pink fort out of fleece blankets and plopped down to watch cartoons. He’d made Mexican hot chocolate and painted his sister’s nails. The fort stayed up until his parents returned the following Monday, despite Frankie’s pleas for it to become a permanent feature.

Thinking about home brought a deep, dull ache to his stomach, but he found himself smiling when they returned, Olsen’s laughter rolling down the hall.

“Ain’t this some cute shit,” she said, winding an arm around Kowalski’s neck. “What’s on tonight, Jeff?”

“My all-time favorite.” A wide grin split his face. He flipped a sheet open, and beckoned for them to enter. “The Room.”

“I take back what I said. You are literally the worst.”

“I know.”

Morrison was already inside with Carson, Khan, and a few of Lewis’ buddies. There wasn’t any space except on the floor.

Olsen’s laughter started rolling free mere seconds into the movie, and before long she was talking over it, stopping to guffaw at the terrible acting. Carson and Lewis had every line of dialog committed to memory and took parts, and Gabriel laughed so hard tears streamed down his face. Kowalski, spread out on the floor on her stomach, kept shooting glares at them, telling them to keep it down, she was trying to pay attention.

Olsen was spread out across the back of the couch, and fell asleep suddenly and without warning, her laughter turned to snoring in a second. She rolled off the couch, and Carson and Morrison let out little shrieks of surprise. They both fell off the couch, and Gabriel darted to the side just in time to get kneed in the back by Morrison.

“Sorry,” Morrison grunted.

A socked foot stretched out on the floor beside him. A knee knocked in his back again, and Morrison repeated himself.

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. Carson had climbed back up on the couch, but Olsen had effectively stolen Morrison’s spot.

“It’s fine,” Gabriel said.

A second foot scratched against the carpet as it appeared on his left side. All at once Gabriel became very aware of Morrison’s presence behind him; they weren’t touching, but he could feel the heat rolling off his body, could smell the trademark tang of oranges and soap.

Gabriel shifted back until his back pressed against Morrison’s chest. He felt him inhale a sharp breath. Gabriel swung out his arms, resting them on Morrison’s thighs like he was a couch.

He was too tired to get up and move, anyway.

Morrison fidgeted under him, probably uncomfortable. Gabriel slid back against him. “You make a pretty good couch,” he said.

“Fuck off, Gabriel.”

There was something warm and affectionate in his voice, and Gabriel found it hard to care that they were surrounded by their friends. They were more interested in the movie, anyway.

Lewis and Carson kept up their little game of playing the characters. Khan joined them after a while, and Kowalski hissed at them to cut it out. Olsen woke up halfway through the movie and swung her metal arm wildly, smacking Morrison upside the face.

Gabriel kept his hands in loose fists, but it was awfully tempting to flatten out his palms. “You okay?”

Morrison stilled behind him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You and Deschamps were really going at it.”

“You heard that?” Morrison’s chest moved with a long, deep breath. “I’m fine. I’ll…be fine.”

Gabriel swallowed his nerves and flattened a hand against Morrison’s thigh, giving it a reassuring pat. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Morrison muttered, “I’m invested in this movie.”

“Liar.”

Exhaustion pulled hard on his body. Gabriel closed his eyes and listened to the movie for a bit, until his friend’s voices died down and he fell into a light sleep.

He woke during the strange hours of night. It was pitch black, and Gabriel was groggy but aware of the twitch of muscles behind him.

Voices hissed in the dark. Gabriel had no interest in listening, but they were close.

“…I auditioned, and everything looked good. Went home and watched the news with my parents. Got word about my brother a week later.”

“I’m sorry.” That whisper rumbled behind Gabriel’s back. His exhausted mind couldn’t bear the thought of opening his eyes more than a crack.

“He died a hero. That’s what he wanted. What do you want, Jack?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

Quiet. It sounded good, too, even if their whispering reminded him pleasantly of camping trips and sleepovers and his sisters gossiping down the hall in the dead of night. The quiet was good, warm, comfortable. Gabriel sighed and settled his weight back against Morrison’s warmth.

“You’re asking why I joined?”

“You’re not much of a conversationalist,” Kowalski sighed.

A slight chuckle moved Morrison’s shoulders. “Guess not.”

“So, is the rumor true?”

“Oh.” Silence followed. Morrison shifted, and Gabriel’s head rolled to the side. Something brushed against his shoulder. Fingers?

He was too tired to worry about it. He only wanted to listen to the quiet push and pull of Morrison’s breaths, his muted whispers.

“It’s not my business,” Kowalski whispered, “I’m sorry I asked.”

Silence stretched on. Gabriel couldn’t keep a proper grasp on it, and he started to drift off again. A hand brushed across his shoulders and he flexed into the touch, a sigh rumbling free from his throat. He was dimly aware of footsteps, and then he could only hear Morrison’s breathing next to his own.

The hand on his shoulder lifted, and Gabriel had half a mind to protest until fingers shifted into his hair. The contact felt _good_ , and he leaned his head back, smiling despite the grasp of sleep. “That feels nice,” he mumbled.

The hand in his hair stalled. Morrison’s chest was still for a long moment before he spoke. “You’re awake?”

“Barely,” Gabriel groaned.

Morrison was still. Gabriel rolled his shoulders back, drawing in a deep breath. He flexed his hands into fists, then spread his fingers out against Morrison’s warm thighs. A hand slid over one of his, and fingers pushed through his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

Gabriel woke by slow degrees. He had no real grasp of what time it might be, and couldn’t have cared. Blinking and bleary eyed, he glanced around the inside of the blanket fort. Olsen was missing from the couch. In the dim light he searched for other bodies, listened for their breathing, but it was only him and Morrison.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Morrison mumbled.

Gabriel squeezed his fingers around Morrison’s. He was too tired to form a response, and tucked back against his friend, drawing in a deep breath before letting his eyes fall closed.

The hand in his hair pulled away. An arm slid around his stomach, and Gabriel moved his other arm to hold Morrison close to him. The heat and pressure of his body felt good. He felt safe and secure, and didn’t care if someone might find them tangled up together in the morning. The bridge of Morrison’s nose pressed against his hair. Gabriel’s stomach fluttered when Morrison’s warm breath fanned down over his ear.

Gabriel held his breath, worried that Morrison would say something and break the spell. Part of him had expected it to be left in Indiana, or in the rusted-out car parked at the cabin in the woods.

He was glad when it stayed silent.

-

Gabriel lingered under the shower shortly after 0500h, enjoying the deep sense of contentment that had settled in his body. He’d expected awkwardness, or a tenuous silence, but he’d only gotten a warm, sleepy smile and playful pokes in the ribs.

He inspected his beard in the mirror when he was done showering and ran his fingers over the scar on his left cheek. It was half-hidden by dark brown hair, and it didn’t look right. Maybe a goatee was the answer, but how many twenty-three year old men wore them? He wasn’t even that old yet; he still had a few weeks to wait.

The beard did nothing to hide the small cuts and the deep black bruise that had settled around his nose. He prodded it gently, but it didn’t hurt at all, and Gabriel pinched his skin as a test. He registered the feeling acutely, but it didn’t hurt. PRT existed for a reason, he supposed. Funny that he hadn’t noticed his resistance before.

When he returned to his dorm to change into clean clothes, Morrison and Olsen were milling outside his door, bright-eyed. “Hey,” he grunted, “Breakfast isn’t for two hours. Go back to bed.”

“We’re going for a run,” Olsen chirped. “All of us.”

“Well, you guys have fun.”

He walked past them into his room and carefully closed the door before starting to change. He had his sweatpants on and was in the middle of pulling his long-sleeved exercise shirt on when Morrison rolled open the door. “You want to come?”

“There’s snow on the ground.”

“Why are you up so early, then?”

Gabriel crossed the room to his dresser and opened the top drawer. He produced a beaten-up paperback novel and tossed it to Morrison. “Not much time in the day to read.”

“Oh.”

“Nerd!” Olsen hissed from the hall.

Morrison turned it over in his hands. “Stephen King, huh? Where’d you get this?”

“My nurse is pretty cool.”

He stuck out his hand and waited for Morrison to give it back, but he flipped through the pages instead, mouth turned up in a smirk. “Any good?”

“Depends on what you like.”

“What I’d like,” Morrison said, “Is for you to come out with us.”

He made a show of pretending he didn’t want to follow Morrison out into the hall. Olsen caught him with an arm around his neck, her excited chatter drowning out the thoughts in his head.

Outside, the sun had yet to show its face and the sky was black, pricked only by stars.

The cold was enough to convince him to keep pace with Olsen and Morrison. Their breaths spooled out into the early morning air, hanging on the edge of the cold. Olsen talked all the way around the track. By the tenth lap, Lewis and Kowalski appeared, and by the fifteenth, Carson joined them.

Morrison ran ahead, kicking up snow in his wake. In a show that was just cruel, he turned and ran backwards, breath leaving his lung in big puffs.

“Show off!” Olsen hollered.

“What’s the matter?” Morrison taunted, “Can’t keep up?”

Morrison grinned, teeth bright in the dark. Gabriel forced his legs to work harder despite the chill. He dropped low and scooped up a handful of snow, squeezed it into a ball, and lobbed it at Morrison. It hit his shoulder and exploded down the front of his sweater.

“Oh, it’s _on_ , California!”

Olsen let out a delighted shriek and rushed at Gabriel, knocking him down into the snow. “Snowball fight!” she screamed.

“Fuck!” Gabriel rolled free of a handful of snow and darted across the field, dodging Olsen and Morrison’s throws. Hers were sloppy, but Morrison’s were practiced. Kowalski, another goddamn Midwesterner, sprinted across the field and intercepted his path. A snowball whizzed past his ear, and he bit down on more curses, adrenaline spiking under his skin.

He scooped up more snow and turned to toss it, but the damn thing fell to pieces before it could get anywhere close to Kowalski. She let out a whoop and ran in a quick circle around him, dropping to whip a snowball at Morrison that hit him in the thigh.

Did that mean she was on his side? Gabriel had no idea what the rules of a snowball fight were—if they _had_ rules at all—and could barely keep up as Lewis and Carson joined the fray, pelleting snow at Olsen and Morrison.

Morrison came running from his right flank, dropped to one knee, caught a handful of snow, recovered—where the hell had he learned that?—and clapped a handful of snow over Gabriel’s face.

He lurched away from Morrison, dragging his hands down his face. It was fucking _freezing_ and wet and horrible and—and Morrison was laughing at him, shaking with it.

Gabriel chucked a fistful of snow at Morrison that missed him by a mile.

“Hey,” Morrison huffed, “You started it.”

Gabriel threw snowball after snowball, missing most of his shots. Morrison slowly composed himself, laughter dying out into a smile.

Gabriel slid his feet backwards through the snow. Morrison had a wicked glint in his eyes.

“W-wait,” he stammered, “How about—”

Before he could say _truce_ , Morrison was on top of him. Gabriel kicked and struggled underneath him as Morrison came up with a handful of snow.

“Oh my God, Jack, don’t you _dare_ —”

Morrison pushed snow down the collar of Gabriel’s shirt. He bucked up, cursing wildly as the cold bit through his skin. Morrison sat back on Gabriel’s stomach, grinning down at him. “Don’t pick snowball fights with a Midwesterner.”

“You waiting for me to surrender?”

“Thought you’d put up a better fight.” Morrison’s tone was light, mocking. Trying to get a rise out of him. Classic. “I know how much you hate to lose.”

He had an opening, no matter how small; Morrison’s hands rested on his thighs, but the hem of his sweater had edged up to expose a small strip of skin.

“Guess you’ve got me figured out,” Gabriel sighed. He folded one hand behind his head, trying to look at ease while he squeezed snow into his palm.

Morrison’s stance relaxed, and Gabriel lunged forward, punching the snow against the exposed slip of skin. He hissed and drew back in surprise and Gabriel seized the moment to toss Morrison over onto his back. He held him down in the snow, kicking and laughing.

“Guess you were right about one thing,” he said, “I sure hate to lose.” Gabriel grabbed Morrison’s waist and rolled him over, face-down in the snow.

Morrison’s back shook hard with laughter so warm it could have melted the winter around them. Gabriel took up handfuls of powdery snow and pushed it into Morrison’s blond hair. Farm Boy squirmed underneath him. When he turned his head, tears were streaming down pink cheeks. “Geez, okay. I surrender!”

Gabriel ruffled a hand in Morrison’s hair for good measure before sitting back, arms folded over his chest. Morrison couldn’t stop laughing. Around them the scene was chaotic; Olsen was after Lewis with a vengeance, and Carson had laid down to make snow angels. Kowalski darted after Olsen, lobbing perfect shots at her back.

Warmth spread through Gabriel’s body despite the cold winter, despite the ache of the cold.

Morrison twisted onto his back, still trapped between Gabriel’s legs, chest heaving, eyes closed. Flakes of snow dusted his eyelashes and stuck in his chair. He breathed out mist and said something quiet.

“What?”

Morrison tried to sit up, eyes flying open when he realized he was stuck. Still laughing, softly now, he patted Gabriel’s thighs. “Nothing.”

Gabriel saw the snowball a second too late. Cold snapped against his cheek and he was knocked off Morrison, landing on his side in the snow. Olsen let out a whoop across the field. 

Morrison took off, running backward again.

“Oh, it’s on, Farm Boy!”

-

The official call to pack up came in the middle of breakfast. Deschamps stormed into the mess hall and dragged him and Morrison out. He caught sight of a bus out on the grounds before they walked into her office.

Coordinator Castillo was absent, once again, and Gabriel found himself wondering who _actually_ ran the facility.

She seemed ragged, far from her usual, composed self. Makeup was smudged under her eyes but she smiled thinly. Most of the anger seemed to have drained away. Gabriel’s ears still stung from the chewing-out she’d administered.

She would have made a great drill sergeant.

“Mr. Morrison. Mr. Reyes.” Her tone was dark, cold, formal. Like she wasn’t interested in talking to them at all. “Your indiscretion has cost me my reputation and I will not entertain any further nonsense from either of you. One more slip-up and you’re gone. That’s it. End of the line. Is that understood?”

Morrison nodded. Gabriel kept still.

“We’re leaving within the hour,” she said, “You will do as instructed and stay within bounds and you will _not_ breath a word of this to their staff.” She leveled a cold, cruel glare on Gabriel. “You will be on your best, _quietest_ behavior. Is that understood?”

Morrison nodded again. Gabriel looked at the clock on her desk.

It was one thing for her to be angry. Yeah, they’d definitely fucked up, and punishment wasn’t abnormal. But something about her tone was off. She was worried about how it _looked_ , not the fact that they’d gotten out. If she’d been the only person to know, would they be having this conversation at all?

It edged under Gabriel’s skin. Thoughts—most of them old—swarmed together into half of an answer. He’d need a few more pieces before he could be sure.

“Now.” Deschamps turned around in her chair and dismissed them with a wave.

Once they were out in the hall and out of earshot, Morrison nudged Gabriel in the ribs. “Can’t believe she dragged us all the way down here to talk for two minutes,” he muttered. “Hey, any idea where we’re heading?”

“Dr. Hale gave me a heads-up,” Gabriel said, “Another facility.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Bet there are a few.”

The halls buzzed with activity. Staff and soldiers alike rushed to throw their things into duffel bags and make it out onto the field where the busses waited. He and Morrison bled into the mess, and with less time to pack, parted ways.

Gabriel shoved things into his duffel. He opened a drawer and sorted through Frankie’s letters. Was it temporary or permanent? He didn’t know, so he shoved everything inside, and rushed to pull the polaroids off the wall above his bed. His favorite picture fell down behind the bed, and he dropped to his stomach to grab it.

He was eighteen in the photo, with a full head of loose curls and a clean-shaven, unscarred face. Frankie had her arms around his neck. Huge grins decorated both of their faces, along with heaps of white sunscreen. He’d taken it on his cellphone on the twentieth day of August.

The day the Crisis started.

It all seemed years distant. Gabriel tucked the photograph into his pocket.

Olsen knocked at his door. "Ready, kid?"

"Ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Only two chapters for this update. Next week's gonna be a loooong one :D
> 
> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Blood, knives, some general unpleasant experimentation

Gabriel leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, distancing himself from the noise of the packed bus. Coordinator Castillo tried, valiantly but in vain, to calm the soldiers. After six months stuck in one place, Gabriel couldn't blame them for getting excited, even if half of them shared the opinion that they were on their way back to the front.

Olsen chattered with Morrison, drowning out other voices. She was back to telling him war stories and he was too polite to stop her when she got dramatic and started pulling his leg.

A sharp poke to his ribs had him cracking open an eye. Olsen grinned at him, all teeth. "I bet you've got some great stories," she said, "Why don't you ever talk about Oregon?"

Gabriel closed his eyes and let his head roll against the window. "I'm sure Jack has stories. I'm napping."

"That true, Blondie?"

"Not really."

"Come on, you've got to have something," Olsen pressed.

"Nothing I want to talk about."

"Fine." He heard her slip back into her seat and opened his eyes.

"You talk to Dr. Ashhad about that stuff," he mumbled, "Right?"

"You worrying about me?" Morrison cocked a brow, but he didn't look amused by the idea. His eyes narrowed for a fraction, sizing him up, studying his expression. Gabriel kept his smile polite and neutral

"Happens on occasion."

Morrison shifted in his seat, his shoulder brushing Gabriel's. He was back in the sweater embroidered _Morrison_ , but he hadn't been given his back. "She's right, though. You never talk about Oregon."

"You're deflecting."

"I'm curious."

Morrison tipped his head back against the seat, blue eyes calm, peaceful. He looked better. Happier. Gabriel wasn’t sure what the difference was, exactly, or if it was just the sunlight streaming through the windows, lightening his hair, making the freckles on the bridge of his nose stick out. With a sigh he admitted defeat and started pulling the pieces from where he’d buried them. He didn’t think about Oregon, not because he didn’t want to, but because it seemed like it had all been part of a past life.

“You really want to hear about it?”

“Yeah,” Morrison said, nudging his shoulder, “I love your stories.”

Gabriel scoffed. “God.”

“What?” Morrison shifted in his seat, crossing his legs and propping a boot against Olsen’s seat. “You’re so—I don’t know." An uncertain smile wavered on Morrison’s mouth, like he regretted the words. “I mean—I like listening to you talk,” he muttered, “Forget it, just—”

“Jack.” Gabriel leaned against his shoulder, but resisted the impulse to put his hand on his arm. The slight touch, the firm pressure, it was enough. He’d rather talk about directing high school productions or the summer he learned to surf or about the time he won a tied basketball game with two seconds left on the clock, but if Morrison wanted to know about Oregon, he’d tell him.

Part of him wanted to talk about it. Maybe, in return, Morrison would talk about what happened down on the border.

“Portland was a mess when I was flown in,” he said, “Dropped right out into combat, no real warning. Lot of fighting in the city streets. Civs were pretty much all gone. Empty buildings, everywhere. Lots of cover. For us, and for them.” Gabriel paused to scratch at his beard. It was starting to get long and needed a trim. “Pretty straightforward. Clear a zone, report back. Day in and day out until we made it to their door and blocked them in.”

“Blocked them in?”

“Poured concrete,” Gabriel said, “Couldn’t get anyone in to shut down the reactor. Best solution was to quarantine it. They’d get out every few weeks, we’d take them out, seal it up again, until their resources ran out. Dormant, now.”

“Oh.”

“Civs started coming back a week after. Some of us starting helping out with reconstruction. I got lucky enough to start work out in the mountains.” Switching from fighting in the city to fighting in deep, dark forests had made his head reel, but he’d adapted, just like he adapted to everything.

“Before I was promoted,” he said, “I was in a unit with twelve people. Good soldiers. Command was this little guy, Knowles. Loud as hell. He held us together and turned us into a sledgehammer force.” He ran his thumb along his jaw. Knowles had been perfect for command, smart enough to know when to get out of dodge, and distanced enough to keep personal feelings out of decision-making. “We were a month into a mission, running around recons, blocking supply routes. I don’t know how they found us. Strafed the shit out of the trees trying to kill us. We ran, they followed. Got tired. Three days on our feet, sleeping whenever it was quiet longer than a few minutes.”

Jack nodded along, quiet, listening.

“Couldn’t return fire,” Gabriel said, “It would only give away our position. We just sat in the dark in the goddamn woods waiting for them to find us.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He’d never considered those missions in Oregon private memories. “I was sleeping by the edge of our hide-out. The forests are pitch black at night. I remember waking up and I knew something was wrong. Saw red, faint, through the trees. And when I focused I could hear them moving through the underbrush. They’re not usually that quiet.” It had been paralyzing. Gabriel had convinced himself that it was a dream when nothing burst out of the trees. “Woke up in the morning and Knowles was gone. Like he’d never existed. We panicked.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m good at not thinking, sometimes,” Gabriel muttered, “I took command. Wasn’t supposed to, but Scott was injured, and Young was busy puking his guts out. Did that when he was nervous. Had the choice of running back to base or finishing the mission. I chose to finish what we started.”

“Pinned down like that?”

“We were getting close to the pipeline.”

“Pipeline?”

“Omnics need water to cool the reactor,” he said, “We’d already shut off half of them in the area. Can’t count on them letting a meltdown happen, so we managed their water supply. Frustrates them, wastes their resources. Best we could do.”

“Smart.”

“They took Knowles. Killed him, probably. Hoped we’d run back to base. It’s technically what we should have done, but a month’s work? His life? Had to get the job done.”

Olsen’s head popped out from between the two seats in front of them. “Riveting stuff,” she said, “What happened?”

“Moved in, shut down the pipeline, took a different route back to base. Got an earful for that one. And a promotion.”

“That was a good call,” Morrison said.

“A lucky call,” Olsen snorted. “I would have wanted you to do just that, though. If I were Knowles.”

“I’d take on a whole Omnium single-handed for you, Tex,” Gabriel teased.

The intercom crackled. Music started playing over the speakers, and at the same time the chatter dropped to a rush. Just past the snow-covered mountain he caught a glimpse of curved concrete. It was set into the side of the hill, bordered on every side by dead, brown trees. Easily six times as large as their facility, but with no grounds, no low walls. It looked older, like it had been converted to a research facility, or maybe it had always been one.

The road wound up to the building. Coordinator Castillo called out orders and they scrambled, pulling their bags down and falling out of the bus, single-file. Morrison stuck to his side, watching the frenzy with a smooth expression. “I don’t like this.”

“It’ll be fine, Jack,” Gabriel said, “I’ll watch your back.”

“And I’ll watch yours.”

Their steps echoed in the wide, clean hallway. Glass windows looked down the side of the mountain, making Gabriel’s stomach churn. Solid metal doors were set into smooth cinderblock walls. It smelled like a mix of must and bleach.

Coordinator Castillo hushed them to explain that they’d be staying in the gym, all two-hundred of them. They filed down through the massive building. He kept his eyes trained out the windows. He could feel the bite of the cold just standing close to the glass.

Park Hills’ gymnasium left theirs looking like a supply closet. Voices echoed hard. Techs sorted through the crowd, handing out sheets of paper, giving directions to the showers and the mess hall. None of it sat right with Gabriel. Not that he’d never slept in a converted gym before; it was the smell, like the bleach was hiding something else. The techs looked ragged and worn down. Only five of them to their two-hundred.

Gabriel flopped down on a mat, throwing his kit bag onto the floor. It was covered with a thin layer of dust, like no one had used the gym in weeks.

That wasn’t right.

“What do you think this place was, before?” Olsen asked. She claimed a mat next to his and stretched out, fingers pushed into her hair. “You see anyone on your way in?”

“No.”

“Huh. Ghost town.”

Gabriel traced his eyes along the top of the gymnasium. They had an elevated track, probably because they didn’t have a field. Morrison would love it.

He studied the slip of paper. “They’ve got a simulator?”

“Oh?” Olsen edged close to his side to rest her head on his shoulder. “You ever train in one? Fun as hell, man.”

“Nope.”

“Shame. You’re missing out.”

Coordinator Castillo let out a long, sharp whistle. “Five minute warning!”

“What, we’re starting right away?” Morrison mumbled as he plopped down on the free mat on Gabriel’s other side. “Would have been nice if they’d told us what we’re doing.”

“That’s the reality of war, Blondie,” Olsen said, “You don’t usually get prep time.”

Morrison scoffed.

They were led into change rooms and presented with gear and armor. Coordinator Castillo dealt out instructions as they got dressed. The armor was heavy plastic, something like what people wore in laser tag. He pulled it on, laced up his boots, and was sorted out into a little conference room that smelled like fresh paint.

A roster popped up on a little screen in the room, giving him the names of the thirty of them. Most of the names were foreign to him.

Soldiers filed into the room. They walked slowly, with heavy steps. Every last one of them was a head taller than Gabriel, but they looked thin. Deep circles laid under their eyes. Their skin seemed ashy, stretched. Gabriel swallowed hard and tried not to stare.

A man named Fleming had command.

A holographic projection flared to life from the table. Fleming started talking, his voice low and dull, laying out an assault plan.

It was a simulated assault on an active Omnium. Small teams were a better choice against them; Omnics could mow down large groups with no trouble. A small team could stay undetected longer. Sometimes just long enough to get a few soldiers past the back line to disrupt shield generators and take out nested turrets.

It reminded him of the work he’d done in Portland.

It was clear, however, that Fleming had no experience with such work, and Gabriel knew that they were going to fail before they stepped foot in the simulator.

It was a huge, open space. It looked something like a street corner, with the Omnium a hundred meters down. Narrow, unforgiving. Not exactly realistic, but if the whole point was to get them back in a fighting mindset, it’d do.

Holographics projections flared to life. Bastion units, a mounted turret. The ceiling glimmered with the belly of a recon droid.

Sound exploded around him, deafening. Fleming screamed out commands. Simple plan: hold a front line assault with two sets of flanks. Might have worked if they were fighting humans with larger numbers and artillery. As it stood, Gabriel quickly became the last of two on his flank, in a tunnel that ran under a footbridge. Three Bastion units were parked in front of the Omnium doors, gunfire rattling, making short work of Fleming’s front line.

One Bastion unit could be taken by surprise, but three?

The right-side flankers were late. Badly late.

Ten minutes in the sound stopped without warning and lights blinked on overhead, blinding. Fleming had been shot and the game was over.

He unloaded a verbal assault through the debrief. Gabriel was glad for a chance to escape, thinking of a cool shower, but he was gathered by a tech and sorted into a different conference room, with thirty new soldiers, someone else given command.

Four rounds later—all losses—they were cleared for break and guided into a massive, airy mess hall. At least five hundred people crowded the room, but it was still and deathly quiet.

He found Olsen and collapsed at a cramped table.

“You should have seen it,” she said through a mouthful of food, “My man Jeff here got a bullet in the shoulder. I called at him to get out of dodge, but this little asshole pulled the pin on his grenade and rolled underneath four Bastion units.” A wicked grin split her face. She clapped Lewis on the back so hard he choked on his food. “I’ve never been more proud.”

“Always glad to sacrifice myself in a simulated environment,” Lewis grumbled.

“So, anyone get a win yet?” Olsen leaned forward to survey the whole group.

“No one?” Kowalski set down her coffee. “That doesn’t seem right. I ran four missions. You guys?”

The intercom blared. Gabriel clapped his hands over his ears. With how loud everything had been, he’d be deaf before he hit the mat that night.

It was a thin, bored voice. “Subjects one through one-hundred, report to med wing.”

That was it. They sat still, glancing at each other, until Olsen finally spoke. “We still have to go for injections?”

“Fucking bullshit,” Lewis groaned.

-

He made a point of ignoring eye contact with the unfamiliar nurses and techs. The smell of bleach was overpowering. Gabriel shivered at the press of the cold metal table. Their wards were different, and he was in the same room as Holt and Khan.

Privacy be damned.

The techs didn’t talk as they strapped him down and pricked needles under his skin. He breathed through his nose, ignoring the reek of chemicals, trying to think of better things. Mama’s garden, overflowing with flowers and vegetables, humming with bees and birds. Frankie’s invention schematics on the fridge. His old, rusted bike with the broken gears and chronically flat tires. The smell of oranges.

“Hold still,” one of the techs warned.

Like he needed to be told. He was strapped down and couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. And goddamn, he _wanted_ to; nothing about the facility felt right.

A large needle slipped into his arm. The liquid inside looked cloudy, instead of the usual clear fluid.

His muscles convulsed at the intrusion. It didn’t _feel_ right. It itched all the way up inside his arm as his heart worked it through his bloodstream. He clamped down on the sudden, overwhelming impulse to rip the needle out of his arm, or to lean over and vomit.

He hissed and cursed and moved, unable to remain still or quiet. It had a slow, horrible burn, cold as ice but stinging like acid. Whatever it was made his muscles quirk and twitch like he was a puppet and they were the ones in control.

“Subject Thirteen, remain still,” one of the techs said, “You’ll only cause problems.”

Gabriel let his head roll to the side. Holt looked like she was ready to throw up. Khan grinned back at him, but his eyes were wild with discomfort.

Shit.

Silver glinted under the florescent lights. Gabriel jerked his head around. A long, thin scalpel curled in the tech’s fingers.

Gabriel’s heart started hammering, and his urge to vomit became a sharp surge in his stomach. “W-wait,” he said, “What are you doing?”

A palm slapped over his forearm. Gabriel twisted his arm down and the tech jerked it back into place. His veins didn’t look right. There was already a huge bruise in the crook of his elbow.

“Hold still.”

The tech lowered the blade, painfully slowly. Gabriel jerked against the restraints. “No,” he said, “Don’t—don’t—”

The blade touched his skin, horrible and cold. “This won’t work if you struggle. Remain calm.”

Calm? How could he _possibly_ be calm? God, he never liked knives, never liked doctors, never liked—

The scalpel edged into his skin. Gabriel yelped and jerked against the restraints, breathing hard. Blood spilled out from the cut and trickled down his arm. The ice-cold fire in his veins was suddenly overwhelming and the edges of his vision turned white. He was dimly aware of a bandage being pressed over his skin and the cries from Holt as the same was done to her.

He fell out of the restraints when they let him go and stumbled for the door, his shirt left behind.

Air. He needed air.

Gabriel staggered down the hall, his hand flying out for purchase against the smooth walls. It was too much. White swam over everything like a filter, and the next thing he knew he was laying out on the floor, breathing in dust and the smell of bleach.

Khan lurched by him, dragging his feet. “Look alive, Lucky Thirteen."

“Fuck off,” Gabriel groaned.

Gabriel pressed his forehead against the floor. Shit. He just wanted some fresh air—who cared if it was winter—but the windows down the hall seemed a hundred kilometers distant.

A cold shiver rolled through his body, painfully slowly, and he gritted his teeth. Fuck, this wasn’t right—it _couldn’t_ be right—he needed to get back to the med ward, right now, or—

“Gabriel?”

He tried to open an eye, but everything remained overexposed, out of focus. “Hey, Blondie,” he grumbled, “Could you—this isn’t—” Gabriel couldn’t work his tongue around the words. He felt a hand against his shoulder, and then the floor lifted out from under his face as he was rolled onto his back.

“They cut you, too?” Morrison asked.

He nodded. The palm of Morrison’s hand swept up along his jaw, brushing across the scar on his cheek.

“Feels terrible,” Morrison muttered. Understatement of the century.

Blood pounded hard in Gabriel’s ears. It sounded like the rush of the ocean, and he could smell salt water instead of bleach, felt sand under his head rather than a dusty tile floor. That wasn’t right.

“Gabriel.” Morrison’s voice was low, smooth, but distant. His warm hand lifted from his face to settle against his chest. He tried to look, but everything remained whited out. “Can you sit up?”

He gave a few experimental commands and his body moved in slow jerks until he was up against the wall. Slowly, smoothly, the world came into focus.

Just a barren white hallway, with Morrison crouched on his haunches at his side.

“That was—” Gabriel swallowed thickly. The pounding in his head slowed as a chill gnawed through his muscles. He folded over on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. His body rattled and shook, but the cold was slowly passing. Morrison’s hand smoothed over his arm, soft and warm.

“Yeah,” Morrison said, “Something.”

Voice sparked down the hall. Gabriel lifted his head to watch three Park Hills inductees slide past, mumbling to each other like they didn’t have the energy to raise their voices above a whisper. Gabriel tried to catch a glance at their wrists.

“Hey, Jack,” he said, “You see it, too?”

Morrison sat down beside him, warm and solid at his side. “See what?”

Gabriel ran his hands over his face. He stank like iron. The bandage over his wrist was dark with blood.

“Look at them. Like they’re already half dead.” Gabriel muttered. “I think there used to be more people here.”

“You mean—”

“Yeah.” Gabriel leaned his head back against the wall. The cool concrete made a good anchor. “Like Perrault.”

Except Perrault had never dragged himself through the halls looking like he’d spent weeks starving in the woods.

“They must be giving us something different,” Morrison said, “Or less of the same stuff.”

“What do you think was the point of this?” Gabriel tugged on the edge of his bandage. It itched like hell, but his stomach turned at the mere thought of pulling it off. “They tell you anything?”

“No.” Morrison shifted against his shoulder to settle in close and roll up his sleeve. Long fingers traced against the bandage. Somehow Morrison’s looked lighter, like he’d bled less. Short nails pulled back the edge. The inside of his arm was bruised blue.

“Shit, Jack, look at you,” Gabriel murmured. He gently touched the bruise and Morrison hissed through his teeth. “—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Looks worse than it is.” The corner of Morrison’s mouth pulled up in a grimace as he pulled the bandage away from his skin. Gabriel’s stomach gave a quick, hard squeeze.

A perfectly straight red line ran across the middle of his forearm.

“Wait—” Gabriel muttered, “How long ago did you go in?”

“Twenty minutes, I think?”

“Shit.” Gabriel gently touched Morrison’s arm, fingers sweeping close to the cut. His arm was covered in dried blood. The bandage had pulled a scab away. Gross. “It’s closed up already?”

“I guess so.”

“Must have been whatever they gave us,” Gabriel said, “Advanced blood clotters?”

“Maybe.”

Morrison leaned against his shoulder, his hand brushing over Gabriel’s bandaged arm.

He didn’t want to look at it, but curiosity got the better of him. He gently pushed Morrison’s hand away to pull at the bandage.

“Oh,” Morrison sighed.

Dark, congealed blood massed in a ridge across his arm. The scent of iron was strong and overpowering. At least the bleeding had stopped. He set the bandage back and Morrison slid away from his shoulder.

“Maybe they gave you something different,” Morrison said, “Maybe it’s—”

Footsteps cut him off. Dr. Hale, with a nurse on either side, turned around the corner. He stopped to smile down at him and Morrison. “Gentlemen.”

“You got a second, doc?” Gabriel pulled himself to his feet. The nurses narrowed their eyes at him, but Dr. Hale seemed unfazed by the dark tone of his voice.

“Perhaps a minute, for you,” Dr. Hale chirped. A thin smile stretched across his face. Maybe he already knew what Gabriel wanted to ask.

“Those injections—”

“I am not at liberty to discuss our procedures,” Dr. Hale tutted, “And you’ll recall signing off on waivers that allow us to make medical decisions _for_ you.”

Morrison rose to his feet by Gabriel’s side. Gabriel reached out and tugged on the sleeve of his sweater. “Dr. Hale—I don’t need details, I just—this isn’t right.”

“Morality is gray, Mr. Reyes,” Dr. Hale said, “This war must be won at any cost.” The doctor waved a hand at his nurses. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll meet you in the labs.”

Dr. Hale folded his hands behind his back, pale eyes watching the nurses until they disappeared down the end of the hall.

“Dr. Hale—”

“It’s like I said, Mr. Reyes. I am not at liberty to discuss our experiments with you. This war has dragged on for so long that programs like ours may be the only way to turn the tide.” He shifted a hand into his pocket and let out a whistle.

“The people here,” Gabriel pressed, “They’re like—”

“I haven’t been here in six months,” Dr. Hale sighed. “Things can change so quickly.”

“Are we all on the same program?” Gabriel stepped toward Dr. Hale. The doctor kept his eyes distant, trained on the windows down the hall. “Getting the same injections? Because they look like—”

“The walking dead.” Dr. Hale snorted, a smile cracking across his face. He recovered his composure, fixing his expression as he pulled something out of his pocket and let it drop on the floor. He slid his feet along, whistling the same tune.

Morrison bent down to pick it up. “Dr. Hale, wait—”

“Try to stay out of trouble, will you?” Dr. Hale stopped by the end of the hall, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Morrison turned a plastic card over in his hands. “Pass key?”

“Fucking old man,” Gabriel chuckled, “He knows something’s up. Hey—you’re good at hiding shit.”

Morrison rolled his eyes. “You got it.”

“Hey, Jack.” Gabriel tugged on his sleeve again, and waited until he couldn’t hear Dr. Hale’s footsteps anymore before daring to speak. “I’m not imagining things, am I?” He paused to suck in a sharp breath between his teeth. “There’s something wrong with this. _All_ of this.”

Morrison tipped his head toward the windows and started to walk, his steps quick and light. Gabriel followed on his heels.

“Deschamps was so worried about us making a scene—I think I know why.”

“Oh?”

Morrison leaned against the windows. Gabriel mirrored him, but the glass was freezing cold. The mountain sloped down below the facility, barren and ugly. He couldn’t see anything over the mountain, or down in the valley, except a half-frozen creek.

“I’ve got some questions I need answered, first,” Gabriel said.

“So—” Morrison cocked his head, eyes scrunched up, mouth pulled into a frown. “—I don’t follow, Gabriel.”

Gabriel pulled in a long, deep breath. “You said you turned off the cameras back at base? When we snuck out?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think it would have mattered,” Gabriel says, “No one watches them.”

Morrison considered for a moment, quiet. “No. I guess not.”

“And she sent techs out to fetch us,” Gabriel said. “Never had any guards posted. Doesn’t seem right for a facility full of super-soldiers, does it?”

“I figured the techs carried tasers, or something,” Morrison mumbled.

“I don’t think she was ever concerned with us _leaving_ ,” Gabriel said, “At least half of us.”

“You mean—” Morrison stalled on the thought, his eyes sliding over to gaze out the window. “The military school kids?”

“How many of them have seen combat?”

Morrison stuck his tongue out between his teeth, thinking. “Maybe three of them, that I can think of. That I’ve spoken to.”

“I think Deschamps was worried about attracting the brass,” Gabriel said, “Have you seen any?”

“No.”

“She has to have friends here,” Gabriel muttered, more to himself than to Morrison. “Dr. Hale certainly isn’t one of them.”

Morrison pulled the plastic card out of his sleeve and ran a finger along the edge. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to find answers, Jack. You in?”

“I…I don’t know, Gabriel.” Morrison chewed on his lip, eyes searching the valley below. “Maybe we should sleep on it. Deschamps…wasn’t happy with me.”

Gabriel nodded, but a part of him was disappointed. “What did she say to you, Jack?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Jack—”

“I just—I’m not sure if I want to risk discharge,” he said, “I don’t know where I’d go.”

He dropped his head, blue eyes searching the dirty floor. Gabriel slid his hand up Morrison’s bicep to rest on his shoulder. “You can say no, Jack.”

“No,” Morrison mumbled, “Not yet. You said you had more questions? I just—I just want to be sure.”

Morrison lifted his chin. Narrowed eyed slowly traced up Gabriel’s form. All at once Gabriel was much too aware that he’d left his shirt in the med wing and he jerked his hand off Morrison’s shoulder to cross his arms over his chest. It was ridiculous to worry about it; Morrison knew the story behind the scars as well as anybody else did. It had never really been a secret. “We’ll make sure.” Gabriel turned on his heel and beckoned for Morrison to follow him down the dusty, sun-soaked hall. Halfway back to the gymnasium a high-pitched alarm sounded. Gabriel froze, searching the ceiling like there’d be a screen telling him what to do.

A disembodied voice boomed with static. _“All subjects report to Delta wing for simulator assignments.”_

“Shit,” Gabriel hissed, “They’re putting us through the ringer _again_?”

“After injections,” Morrison sighed.

“Come on, Blondie.” Gabriel looped an arm around Morrison and turned them back toward the med ward. “Don’t look so disappointed. We’re both rusty as hell.”

“Guess it’s one way to get back in shape,” Morrison said.

They walked in silence, Morrison warm beside him, the gears in his mind working hard.

A huge, hulking man slid past them in the hall, his boots heavy on the tile. He turned his head to glare at them. Gabriel recognized him as Fleming, command from his first mission that day. His skin seemed too tight for him, like he’d grown so rapidly parts of his body hadn’t caught up.

Gabriel tore his eyes away, and focused instead on the warmth of Morrison’s body under his arm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I missed my usual Saturday update and got hit with a pretty major block but we're off to the races now. Thanks for reading!
> 
> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild body horror (I think...)

Gabriel moved the food on his plate around with his fork, his thoughts scattered, though the term food was generous. Exhausted and absolutely ravenous as he was, whatever Park Hills wanted to feed them was hardly worthy of being called edible. Kowalski mushed her food into a portrait of Lewis, who's complaining was beginning to get on Gabriel's nerves. Even Carson, usually upbeat and jovial through the worst shit SEP put them though, mumbled to himself under his breath as he tried to eat. Morrison worked away at the peel of a small, shriveled orange, his mouth curved into a disappointed frown.

Twelve missions in sets of four. Every one a stunning loss. The Park Hills subjects all worked the same strategies, to the same effect, and Gabriel couldn't shake the feeling that he was stuck in a loop, doomed to repeat himself.

"Shit." Olsen dropped her fork and brought her metal elbow down on the table with a clang. "This is garbage. Listen, I know fuck all about cooking, but I could make something edible."

"You said it," Kowalski whined.

The two Park Hills subject at the end of their table turned their heads slowly to stare hard at Olsen, their eyes somehow sharp but unfocused in the same moment. "Pathetic," one said. She turned back to her fellow soldier, but didn't bother to lower her voice. "Spoiled by the soft life."

"Excuse me?" Olsen slammed her fist down on the table. Gabriel lurched to rescue his coffee from falling over.

"Tex, don't start," Carson warned.

The subject lowered her chin, avoiding Olsen's eyes, but there was no sign of remorse. "You have no idea what we've been through. What we've sacrificed. And you dare complain about the food."

"Sacrificed?" Olsen's tone cooled. She sat back down, her chin falling into her hand. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The subject turned back to her friend, who shrugged his shoulder loosely and said, "No point in not telling them. Maybe they know something."

"Something about..." He waited, breath held, but the subject turned back to her food. "How long have you been here?" he prompted.

She squashed something that looked like—but definitely wasn't—mashed potatoes onto her fork. "Eight months, I think."

"And before?"

"Before?" Her eyes glazed over for a long, quiet moment. Gabriel studied her profile. Her skin was drawn tight like all the others, showing the structure of bones underneath.

Finally, with a sigh, she said, "I don't remember."

"You don't—what?" Gabriel shoved his tray of food away and leaned forward on his elbows. His friends sat still and quiet, just as inquisitive as him. "You were a soldier, right? Not a civilian?"

"I remember fighting," she said, "I'm good at fighting."

Gabriel glanced between her and her friend, but both turned back to eating, eyes locked on the sorry sight. He turned back to Morrison and elbowed him in the ribs. The withered, pathetic orange fell from his grasp and landed on the table with a disappointing thump. "You still have it?"

"Have what?" Morrison chewed on his lip for a moment. "Oh," he mumbled, "Yeah, of course."

"Don't lose it." Gabriel leaned back towards the subjects. "Hey, what are your names?"

The subjects lifted their eyes slowly, gaze flickering past him to study his friends. Gabriel couldn't focus on them, not when they looked like they were two steps away from death. "I'm Shelton," she mumbled.

"Liu," her friend said.

"How often do you run simulations?" Small talk he could handle, besides, his stomach didn't feel right, though whether it was because he was starving or a moment away from puking, he couldn't tell. "Got a nice setup."

Shelton leaned her head back, inspecting the ceiling of the huge mess hall. "Used to be every day, back when brass was on base," she said. Her jaw ground back and forth. Her skin was so tight Gabriel could see the muscles clench and move. "Until Reynolds got pissed off at something Walker said and brought a knife into the sim. Killed him."

Gabriel's stomach lurched. He pushed away from the table. Shit. "What, ah—what happened to him?"

"Don't know," Liu mumbled, "They dragged him out of there and none of us have seen him since. Just another one down."

"Another one?" Kowalski cut in.

Liu snorted. "Started with six hundred, asshole. You see that many of us sitting here?"

Gabriel wiped his brow. No sweat, not yet, but he was definitely going to be sick. "I need some air," he muttered, "Fuck."

He clapped a hand over his mouth as he stumbled out of the cafeteria and into the hall. Gabriel wound around a few lost Park Hills subjects and jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. Just Morrison, looking so confused and concerned that it made Gabriel's stomach turn in a different way.

"Get out of the way, Jack," he grumbled, "I'm gonna be sick."

"Gabriel—"

He shouldered past Morrison toward the washroom, but his legs buckled before he could make it. Gabriel slid down against the wall and wiped sweat from his brow. When had that started? When had his whole body gone so numb?

Morrison knelt down on the dusty floor next to him, hands on his thighs. "Gabriel," he said, "You think it's true? What they said?"

"Why the hell would they lie?" he snapped. Gabriel let his head roll against the cool concrete and reached up to cover his face, stifling a groan. Maybe he wasn't going to puke after all, but something was definitely wrong with his body, had been since that damned tech took a scalpel to his arm. "Shit, I can't even think straight. This is fucked."

He felt warm, calloused fingers on his hands. Morrison gently pulled them away from his face. "I'm in, Gabriel." He let go of Gabriel's hand to pull the card out of his sleeve.

"Fuck." Gabriel covered the card with his hand as a brute of a subject walked past, hollow eyes rolling over them like they didn't exist. "Listen, Jack." Gabriel leaned in close enough to feel the heat of his breath, see his warped, strange reflection in Morrison's eyes. "I don't want you getting yourself into trouble because I'm curious. You don't have to—"

"I want to." Morrison's eyes darted away to trace along the imprints formed in the dust on the floor. "They almost killed me, Gabriel...I need to make some sense of it. Get some justice if I can."

"Shit, Jack." Gabriel pushed against the wall to right himself. He set a hand on Morrison's shoulder to pull himself up and wavered on his feet, exhausted mind working in overdrive, scattering his thoughts. "Are you okay? You want to talk about it?"

Morrison kept his eyes trained on the floor. "Sick of talking," he mumbled, "I want to do something about it."

A cluster of lumbering subjects walked past. Gabriel leaned against the wall. Nausea gone, but his head was a goddamn mess. Something cold edged up under his skin, stinging like ice. "I found something," he muttered, "In Deschamps' files. The night you followed me into the basement."

Morrison's eyes widened slightly. "Oh?"

"I should have told you before, but—" Gabriel pulled his hand off Morrison's shoulders. His palm felt cold without the contact. "Something about how they were testing that serum here, waiting for results—that they didn't want to ruin a good subject otherwise."

Morrison suppressed a full-body shiver. "You mean...you think they..." he half turned, both hands sliding up into his hair. He squeaked the toe of his boot against the floor. "This is fucked up."

"You said it," Gabriel said. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Listen Jack, I'm exhausted. I can't think straight." He rubbed at his temples, digging the pads of his tumbles against sore muscles. "I need a little bit of sleep."

"Yeah, of course," Morrison mumbled, "As much as you need."

He walked ahead. Gabriel lingered by the door to the showers, his mind numb, the smell of salt strong in his nose, stronger than the reek of chemicals.

That wasn't right.

-

Gabriel flopped down on the mat in the dusty gym shortly after 2100h, still damp from a shower and too bone-tired to care. The gym stunk like bleach and dust, matching the rest of the facility. How it smelled so clean and managed to be so _disgusting_ was beyond the scope of his tired mind. Gabriel rolled onto his back and traced the raised track and the high-set windows with bleary eyes. He caught the weak glint of stars through glass. No one had yet bothered to hit the breakers, and the gym was half dark. Olsen rustled on the mat beside him, grumbling complaints about a headache under her breath.

“You look at the roster for tomorrow?” She pushed up on her pillow enough to frown at him. “I’m up first. Gonna—” she dropped back onto the pillow, face mushed and voice muffled. “—Gonna get that win. Number one, baby.”

Gabriel gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll kick ass.”

“Damn right.”

Morrison shifted on his mat to shove a copy of the roster against Gabriel’s chest. “You look at this?”

Gabriel shoved the paper away. “Too tired to read,” he grunted. He let his eyes close to punctuate his point, but he was uncomfortably aware of Morrison’s eyes on him.

“We’re up tomorrow,” he said, “Together, I mean.”

“Had to happen at some point.” Gabriel flung an arm over his eyes to block out the light that drained in from the other side of the gym. Nothing to be done about the stale, musty smell, or the chatter of other soldiers. “There’s only, what—five hundred of us here? Six?”

“Haven’t counted.”

Gabriel let the pull of sleep wash over him. It felt like shifting sand, and he could almost hear the rush of the ocean. Cracking open one eye, he checked the ceiling. The fans were still and silent. The noise faded.

“Gabriel?” Morrison’s hand bumped against his elbow. “You okay?”

“Tired, Jack.”

“So—” He heard Morrison flop down on the mat, could feel the tickle of his breath against his cheek. They were awfully cramped in the gymnasium; Olsen, on his other side, would give him a bloody nose if she rolled over. “—I’ve been thinking.”

“Again? Can it wait until morning?”

“Probably,” Morrison mumbled.

He pulled his arm off his face and rolled onto his side, away from Morrison, but he heard the rustle of blankets and cracked open an eye to see that Morrison had scooted to the edge of his mat, staring down at him with wide, open eyes.

“Fine,” Gabriel grunted, “What?”

Morrison’s eyes swung left to right. “I’m going to check it out tonight,” he whispered, “Where the cameras are, where we have access.”

Gabriel rolled onto his back. God, he just wanted to get some fucking sleep, to forget about conspiracy theories for a few hours. “You sure you want to go alone?”

Morrison tapped long fingers against his jaw. “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

Morrison gave a sharp nod. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he said, “Until the morning.”

“See you then, Blondie,” Gabriel mumbled.

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus past the smells and the noise. His mind was aching for answers, and if he weren’t sore, exhausted, and starving, he might have been inclined to chase them while he had a moment. He hadn’t felt so worn down since the serum had kicked his ass during a short spell in August.

The quiet didn’t last. Murmurs broke through the dark, and soft snoring started from Olsen’s mat. It was like being back home again, in a house so loud it was a wonder anyone could sleep at all.

The sound of birds lifted overhead. Gabriel felt a gentle breeze move over his skin like a kiss, heavy with the scent of salt.

Gabriel’s eyes snapped open. A gnawing, black emptiness clouded his mind. He bolted upright, searching the dark. Nothing but rows of mats and the sounds of breathing. He inched a hand toward Morrison’s mat, expecting a warm shoulder, but was greeted by a blanket instead. A few hours had to have passed; the moon was no longer visible through the windows, and the murmurs had died away, leaving the gymnasium still and quiet. Gabriel rolled onto his side, dragging hands down his face. All he wanted was a night’s rest, a moment of reprise after endless simulations and the goddamn conspiracy that was building up pressure like a dam behind his eyes.

Olsen rolled over on her mat. Her arm swung into his stomach and he recoiled with a grunt. Slowly, sleepily, she lifted her head. “Oh,” she mumbled, “Didn’t see you there, Lincoln.”

“Who the fuck is Lincoln?”

Olsen’s eyes fluttered closed again. Gabriel gently pushed her arm off his stomach and folded upright. Didn’t look like he’d woken anybody, so he couldn’t have been having a nightmare. Not like those weren’t already rare. He slipped off the mat and reached back for his UCLA hoodie. After shoving his feet into his boots he rushed out of the gymnasium as silently as possible.

Gabriel wound through cold, moonlit halls. A breath of air that didn’t stink like bleach and dust would be more than welcome, winter be damned. He walked with one palm out against the cool glass as he passed the med wing, the simulator bays, elevators.

He spent too much time sneaking around top-secret facilities.

A wry smile cracked across his mouth. What would he have thought of all this, if the bombs had never fallen on Los Angeles? If there’d never been a war?

It was like a dream. Bad sci-fi stuff. Campy.

Would have made billions in the box office.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Gabriel stopped by the annex of three halls to peer into the shadows. A bar of light slipped out across the dirty floor. Something rustled, and then metal rang out, loud and sharp against his ears.

“Fuck!” a familiar voice hissed.

Gabriel stepped out into the hall as a tall, narrow body stumbled out of the door, one hand pushed into his hair, the other reaching down for his foot as he hopped across the floor.

“What the hell did you do, Blondie?” Gabriel called out.

Morrison let out a yelp as he stumbled backwards. Gabriel moved fast to grab him by the arm, straightening him out. “Just me. Relax. You stub your toe?”

“Keep it down,” Morrison hissed, “Staff sleep just down the hall.”

“Yeah, you’re being real quiet,” Gabriel chuckled. He let Morrison go and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets.

“You actually going to try to keep your voice down?” Morrison stepped lightly across the floor, throwing a glare as he passed. “You want someone to catch us sneaking around?”

“We’re not in a restricted area,” Gabriel muttered. “Didn’t you read the signs?”

Morrison paused, mouth drawn into a straight line. “Not at the moment, I guess.” His eyes flickered to the windows at the end of the hall. “You should be sleeping.”

“Woke up,” Gabriel grunted. He reached out for Morrison’s sleeve and gave it a tug. He was back in _his_ sweater again. “Hey, Jack, you ever going to give that back?”

“Huh?” Morrison twisted his hands in the hem of the sweater and stretched it out, frowning at the surname stitched over the chest. “Oh,” he said, “I, uh, didn’t realize. Must have pulled out the wrong one.”

“Awfully frequent mistake.” Gabriel let a crooked smile show on his face, but Morrison stiffened, one hand moving up to work at the back of his neck. “Relax, Blondie. I’m just teasing.”

Morrison tucked his chin down and stared hard at the floor. Hard to tell in the dark, but Gabriel thought Morrison was _blushing_ , and he could feel a heat rise to his own skin.

“I’ve been through the whole building,” Morrison said, “There’s a service elevator behind the kitchen that goes down to a truck depot, and there’s a tunnel from there I wanted to check out.”

“He’s got clearance down there? Why?”

Morrison shrugged. He rocked back on his heels and turned around to face down the darkened hall. “I don’t know. It felt…weird. Wrong.”

“How many cameras?”

“None,” Morrison said, “I don’t think they’re worried about watching the staff.”

“What kind of oversight.” Morrison started down the hall, and Gabriel fell into step beside him. “Well, works in our favor. What do you want to do, Jack?”

“You’re asking me?” Morrison pulled his lip between his teeth. “I don’t know. I wanted to wait, but—”

Gabriel waited, but Morrison left the sentence dead on the floor and walked away. The halls were deathly silent. Gabriel focused on the quiet rush of Morrison’s breathing and the tapping of their shoes on the floor. He stopped without warning, and Gabriel ran straight into his back. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Morrison spun around on Gabriel so fast his head reeled. “What are we going to do if we find something? If we find proof?”

Gabriel tore his eyes away from Morrison’s grave expression. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“We have to do _something_ to help these people,” Morrison mumbled, “If they were really being used like lab rats—” He scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. “—We have to try.”

Morrison led them down moon-soaked halls. Every footstep seemed too loud, every rattle of breath earsplitting as they descended through the building, past the signs that restricted access. Deschamps would have their heads if she found them.

The facility was massive, the halls labyrinthine, but Morrison seemed to remember where he’d come from. He stopped at the crook of a hall and held up a hand. Gabriel watched his expression, breath bated. Silvery eyes twitched, searching the gloom ahead. Slowly, his mouth curled up in a frown.

“Jack?”

Morrison shot him a cool glare and gave a sharp shake of his head. Quiet.

Blood pounded hard in Gabriel’s ears, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out distant footsteps. He turned slowly, half afraid to move. Slow, lumbering, strangely paced out, but definitely footsteps. “Jack,” he hissed, “We need to—”

“Quiet,” Morrison growled.

The shuffle of feet was growing louder. Rubber soles squeaked against the floor. Right behind them, just around the bend. “Jack,” he said, “Someone’s coming.”

Morrison turned his head slowly, picking up the noise. “Shit.”

Gabriel jerked his head to check the hall both ways. No doors, no furniture, and if they started running down the hall they’d definitely be heard.

The footsteps drew closer, painfully slowly. They couldn’t stand to get caught, not when Deschamps was out for blood, not when they were so close to getting some goddamn answers—

Fuck it.

Gabriel threw an arm out and snagged Morrison by the waist. He spun them against the wall, pushing the air out from Morrison’s lungs. Heat bloomed under his skin at the contact, at the warmth of Morrison’s body. Bright, silvery eyes stared down at him.

“What, uh—what are you doing?” he mumbled.

“Fuck, I’m out of ideas,” Gabriel hissed back. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Whoever was on a midnight tour of the facility wasn’t in any rush, and probably couldn’t hear them. “Just trust me, okay? People sneak around all the time to—”

“Oh.” Morrison lowered his head a little, close enough that Gabriel could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the pleasant mint of their regulation toothpaste. A shiver ran along his nerves to curl up in his chest, stalling his breaths, quickening his heartbeat.

“I get it,” Morrison mumbled, “Do you want me to—”

The warm pad of his thumb ran along Gabriel’s cheekbone and swept up over his scar. He closed his eyes to suppress a shiver. _God_ , that felt good, but—not like this. Not when his heart was pounding and he was busy worried about getting discharged.

Gabriel let his eyes crack open. Morrison’s hand circled around his waist to rest on the small of his back. Had they been anywhere else, Gabriel wouldn’t have been able to say what he needed to.

He disappointed himself with his answer. “No.”

Morrison pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, hard enough to leave his lip red. _Fuck_. He dragged his eyes away to stare at the annex of the halls. He brought his hand from his waist to his shoulder, then let both hands slip around behind his neck. “You think this is, um, convincing?”

Gabriel swallowed hard. His throat had gone dry, and the words came out raw and strained. “You trust me, Jack?”

Morrison’s eyes snapped back to his. “I—” he stalled, mouth hanging open. “Um, yeah, of course.”

“Alright.” Gabriel tore his eyes away from Morrison’s face to rest his head on his shoulder. With his face tucked away and Morrison’s arms around his neck, the chances that whoever the intruder was would be able to see anything were slim. He slid a hand down Morrison’s side. “Just pretend you like me and we’ll be fine, okay?”

“I don’t have to pret—” Morrison’s chest moved with a sharp breath. The arms around his neck tightened.

Gabriel let his eyes fall closed. The sharp tang of oranges and soap filled his nose. He pulled himself flush to Morrison as the footsteps drew unbearably close. Morrison’s heart pounded as hard and fast as his own, loud in his ear. Gabriel let his hand run up and down Morrison’s flank, smoothing soft cotton under his palm.

The footsteps halted. Gabriel could feel eyes on the back of his neck, as sharp and pointed as daggers. They coughed to clear their throat. Rubber soles squeaked on the floor. Gabriel lifted his head from Morrison’s shoulders and caught a glimpse of the intruder before he turned the corner. Fleming again.

Gabriel stayed still, warm in Morrison’s arms. Trouble had been avoided, but his heart slammed in his chest.

“Guess you were right,” Morrison mumbled, “Didn’t think it’d work.”

The arms around his neck loosened. Gabriel suppressed a pang of disappointment as Morrison gently pulled away. Hands swept down his chest, warmth seeping through his thin tank top.

Morrison mumbled something under his breath. Gabriel’s mind slogged through the words.

“What was that?”

A small, shy smile split into a grin. “Nothing,” he said, “Hey, Gabriel—”

“Oh, what’s _this_?”

Gabriel leapt away from Morrison, stumbled backwards, and landed flat on his ass on the dirty floor. He glared up at a smug Olsen, silhouetted by the widow with a fist planted on each hip. Morrison pressed back against the wall, both hands wound into his hair.

“Uh, hey, Tex,” Gabriel grunted, “What brings you—”

“Followed you!” She chirped, “You woke me up.”

“I did not,” he snapped back. Gabriel scrambled against the floor until he was back on his feet. His heart was still pounding, but hell if he cared much what Olsen thought; she already knew how he felt, anyway.

“So.” Olsen dragged her eyes between him and Morrison, one eyebrow cocked. “What are you kids up to?”

“Sneaking around,” Gabriel said, “Looking for answers. Show her, Jack.”

“Uh, show her what?”

Gabriel gestured at his sleeve. “The card.”

“Oh!” Morrison pulled it free and held it out for Olsen. “Access,” he said, “We’ve, uh, got it.”

“So…you’re scrounging around for dirt?” Olsen’s lips cracked to reveal a wicked grin. “Gathering receipts? On who, might I ask?”

“Deschamps, Park Hills, whatever we can find.” Gabriel gestured to her, and Olsen hopped over, looping one arm around his shoulders.

“I’m in.” She pushed him down the hall, away from Morrison, and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You two are cute as hell.”

“Thanks. Now let’s get shit done.”

Olsen tightened her arm around his neck. “You’re my favorite,” she said, “Don’t tell Jeff.”

“It’s a secret.”

-

The service elevator behind the kitchens made a terrible, low-pitched groan as they descended through the facility. Olsen rocked back and forth on her heels, hands behind her back, grinning from ear to ear like it was the most fun she’d had in ages. She leaned toward him and bumped his shoulder. “Should have known not to test you. Or me!” She peered past him at Morrison, who was tucked against the wall, eyes stuck on the floor. “And you too, I guess. How’s it hanging, Blondie?”

Morrison didn’t look up. Maybe he was still embarrassed; he’d been a little pink on their way to the elevator.

The car rattled to a stop. The doors popped open to reveal a wide hall lit in the dull wash of lights that ran along the baseboards.

“Creepy,” Olsen whispered, “You think they did that on purpose?”

“No. And let’s not waste time talking.”

They walked side by side down the hall until it narrowed out. Gabriel brushed his hand along the concrete halls. They were cold to the touch, but not damp like the halls under their facility had been. It seemed…more normal, somehow. About as creepy as a regular basement.

Steel doors lined the hall a short ways down. Gabriel touched one and cold rushed through his skin. “Think this is where they keep the crap food?”

Morrison and Olsen walked ahead, whispering to each other in the dark. Gabriel lingered behind, rubbing his arms to ward off the cold and his slowly growing unease. He had some ideas, sure, but why the hell Dr. Hale had clearance to a glorified cellar was beyond him. Unless there was something else behind cold doors.

A chill rolled up his spine. Morrison glanced back at him, sparking something in his chest that made drawing in breaths difficult. He gave him an uneasy smile in return.

He picked up pace. Olsen strode ahead, swinging her arms.

“Alright, alright, alright. Let’s find a terminal. That card do anything else?” she plucked it from Morrison’s hand and turned it over in her palm. “Boring. We should go back and drag the old man down here. If he knows something’s up, shouldn’t _he_ be the one trying to bring it to light?”

Morrison’s brow furrowed. “There has to be a reason he asked us to do this.”

“Technically he didn’t ask at all,” Gabriel muttered. Not that it mattered one way or another. Gabriel was desperate for answers, and if Dr. Hale wanted to be an ally, he’d take his help.

The hall curved ahead. Olsen’s chatter echoed hard against the concrete walls. Gabriel wasn’t terribly worried about the noise; it was perfectly still and quiet beyond them. Middle of the night in a short-staffed facility full of people who didn’t seem to give a shit about what happened one way or the other.

He tucked the thoughts away as they wound further into the building.

“I think we might be chasing ghosts here, lovebirds.” Olsen pressed a hand against the wall, flicking away beads of moisture. They had to be further below ground; the cold was started to gnaw at his bones. “It’s just storage. Or used to be. Wonder why they needed so much space.”

Gabriel tried the locks on the doors. No luck, and the locks weren’t digital.

“What do you think we’re going to find, anyway? I mean, if there’s some juicy conspiracy going down, I’m sure they’re hiding their tracks,” Olsen said.

Morrison stopped by the end of the hall. A set of double doors faced them. “Maybe there isn’t a conspiracy,” he said, “Maybe Dr. Hale is messing with us.”

“Yeah, seems likely,” Gabriel snorted. He rolled his eyes and shoved past Olsen to pluck the card from Morrison’s hands. This door had an unlit electronic lock. “It has to be something to do with Deschamps. He can’t stand her.”

“How do you know that?” Morrison retorted.

“You know anyone who _likes_ her?”

The door let out a sharp hiss when he swiped the card. The latch groaned and gave way. Gabriel pushed it open slowly, peering into the gloom before lights flicked on overhead. The reek of bleach rolled through the crack and Gabriel recoiled to clap a hand over his nose.

“Fuck,” Olsen groaned, “This is creepy shit, man.”

“Say that again,” Morrison mumbled.

Olsen let out a short, barking laugh. “Why the hell not? This is creepy shit, man.”

Gabriel pulled his hand away from his face and blinked hard to adjust. A cold, white room sprawled out in front of them. A metal table gleamed under a low-hanging light. Rolling drawer units sat out in the middle of the room, adorned with small, sharp objects. The tile floors were scrubbed clean and shone under the strong lights. Large, circular doors line the walls, each boasting a small screen and a number.

“What the hell,” Gabriel grunted, “This looks like—”

“A morgue,” Morrison said.

Gabriel reached out to grab Morrison’s sleeve. Discomfort was clear in the squint of his eyes. “You think?”

“No, this—” Morrison stepped to the metal table and drummed his fingers against the surface. “I snuck into one, once…I wanted to see her, before—”

“Fuck.” Gabriel let his hand slid over Morrison’s. “Weren’t you just a kid?”

Morrison’s fingers squeezed against his. “Yeah,” he said, “Ten.”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” Olsen’s words were muffled by the hand clamped over her mouth. “Come on, let’s get digging. Gotta be something good here. Hope we haven’t wasted our time.” Olsen pulled a drawer open with a clang. “Fuck, scalpels. Doctors are creepy fucks.”

Gabriel let his fingertips trace along Morrison’s palm. He remained still, eyes flicking from the table to the compartments in the walls and back again. “Not enough room here for two hundred, if they were telling the truth,” he said, “Must be why they have so many refrigeration units running.”

A chill raced up Gabriel’s spine and he shivered hard. “Fuck.”

Morrison pulled away from his hand and moved awkwardly to one of the compartments. “I’m sure they won’t risk any bodies being uncovered,” he said, “There might be an incinerator down here.”

“Hey, Old Man Morrie, mind lightening up a tad? Fuck.” Olsen pulled herself up on the counters and let cupboard doors slam against the wall. “Oh look, paperwork! Who feels like sorting through it?”

“I will,” Gabriel offered. He took the folders from her hands and leaned back against the wall to flip through the contents.

Olsen hopped down from the counter and clapped her hands. “Alright, you and me, Blondie. Let’s see if you’re right.”

Medical jargon was still beyond him, lit major or not. He listened to the groan of a compartment being opened but refused to lift his eyes, his mind already working on an image of what they’d find.

Names. Dozens, but he had no way of knowing if they were deceased or just subjects. He searched for any of the names he knew—Shelton, Fleming, Liu—and came up short. “Not sure this is any good. Who keeps paper records, anyway? We need to find a computer.”

Gabriel tossed the folder down on the counter and climbed up to rifle through the cupboard. Lots of crap; binders, boxes of latex-free gloves, face masks. He pulled a clipboard from its perch atop a stack of documents. Someone had been in the middle of paperwork, looked like, and had hastily thrown it out of sight.

The date was promising, along with the signature at the bottom of the page. Dr. Hale’s.

He rifled through the sheets. More jargon he could barely understand. Something about—

“What the _fuck_!”

Metal rang out against the floor. Gabriel turned on his heel.

Olsen was stooped over a gurney, complete with a flash-frozen corpse. Gabriel slapped a hand over his mouth and turned away, half-prepared to loose the little bit of dinner he’d managed to get down.

The body’s eyes were peeled back, staring up at the ceiling vacantly. Morrison stood ramrod straight beside the gurney. “Perrault,” he said.

“Fuck.”

Olsen shoved Morrison out of the way and lowered her face terribly close to the body. “Hmm, sure looks like it. Think they didn’t have room for him back home?” She touched Perrault’s face and jerked back with a hiss. “He’s freezing.”

“No kidding,” Gabriel mumbled. He stepped toward the gurney. A part of him was terrified that Perrault would bolt upright, eyes locked on him, cold, dead skin stretched out in a horrid smile. Just his imagination. Gabriel rounded the gurney and tugged at the placard by his withered feet. Needed a pedicure. “Got something,” he mumbled, eyes running over the typed words.

_James Perrault. Cause of death: reaction to serum #B2906_.

Dr. Hale’s name was signed on the bottom under the time of death.

“Serum got him after all,” Gabriel muttered, “Shit.”

Morrison stepped away from the gurney. His boots caught on the floor and he stumbled to catch himself on a rolling drawer unit.

“Jack?”

He lifted his chin but stared past Gabriel at the body. “Could have been me,” he muttered, “Guess I got lucky.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Olsen said.

She rolled the gurney back into the compartment. The snap of the latch caught on the edge of Gabriel’s frayed nerves and made him jump.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Gabriel tugged on Morrison’s sleeve and whisked them out into the hall. The gross, musty hair felt like a godsend after the bleach soaked room.

Olsen strode ahead, none the worse for wear. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at the morgue door. A hand would slam up against the metal, it would creak open, Perrault would gaze out with milky, dead eyes—

He’d clearly watched too many horror movies as a kid.

“Gabriel? You look—” Morrison’s fingers brushed against his, throwing him hard back into reality.

Perrault was dead and he’d stay dead. That was how it worked.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile. “About the rosters for tomorrow…”

He let his fingers twine with Morrison’s as he followed Olsen down the concrete hall, talking to distract himself, all too aware that if he hadn’t followed Morrison to the gym that night he would have died, scared and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Blood, violence, q slur, f slur

Gabriel laid awake far longer than he would have preferred, bothered by Olsen’s attempts at mimicking a chainsaw and Morrison’s constant kicking. Whispers dragged on through the night, blending into his dreams.

Eventually he slept. Olsen prodded him awake in the morning and he joined the ruckus for breakfast, too exhausted and sore to think about Perrault’s body or the tunnels under his feet. The short walk to the change rooms seemed to take forever. Morrison chattered by his side. He was on about some type of experimental aircraft Gabriel had heard a few rumors about back in Oregon.

Gabriel lazily pulled on the plastic equipment and threw a foot up on a bench to tighten the laces on his boot. Morrison sat, elbows on his knees, pulling his hands through his hair.

“Nervous, Blondie?”

“Nah.” Morrison moved his shoulders back and forth as a strained smile rose to his lips. “Excited to have you on my side, that’s all. Think we could pull out a win.”

“That so?” Gabriel plunked down on the bench beside him and fiddled with the straps on his chest armor. Damn uncomfortable, and he sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to playing war games in an overexposed simulator.

Command was Robertson, another hulking brute with a large forehead, a strong brow, and distant, fidgety eyes. Fleming flanked him. The two looked like behemoths next to each other, and Gabriel was all too mindful that he only brushed past 1.80m.

Morrison wrung his hands as Robertson spat out orders. Gabriel watched the movement of his long, thin fingers. Not that he’d miss anything; his plan of action was identical to the plays almost everyone had already tried.

Despite his words, Morrison certainly looked on edge. Maybe something else was bothering him.

No one had the guts to question Robertson’s pigshit plan. Gabriel wasn’t the least bit surprised when they started the timer and lost half their unit in five minutes under a barrage of simulated fire. He pushed Morrison under cover out of sight of the turret parked on the parapet and they collapsed on the floor, safe for a moment from the noise and confusion.

Morrison propped himself up on his elbows, lifting his head a little to peer over cover. “So,” he grunted, “What do we do, Gabriel?”

“What he told us to do.”

Robertson’s voice crackled in his ear as he threw a verbal assault against the remaining frontline. Simulated gunfire sang. Gabriel twisted a hand in the astroturf.

He hadn’t gotten a chance at a clear shot since they’d burst from cover and been mowed down. Robertson was rolling with the same horn formation, but started from a break and slowly added more to the flanks.

The rattle of turrets died away until there was only the soft pop of pulse munitions. Robertson’s plan might have held water if he hadn’t lost his back line.

“Where’s the signal?” Morrison pulled himself forward on his stomach to peer at the field. “It’s late.” He peered out too far and simulated fire ripped up the turf by his face. He jerked back, eyes stretched wide, panting for breath. “What do we do, Gabriel? Wait?”

“What he told us to do,” Gabriel grunted.

It was a shit plan. There was no one left to back them up or to serve as a distraction; even if they managed to get down under the footbridge they didn’t have enough heat to take out the turret on the roof or the Bastion units parked in front of the Omnium doors. And now that they knew where they were, surely a cannon was aimed straight at their cover, waiting for them to get bold.

He could nitpick Robertson’s plan all he liked; he’d follow it all the same.

“God, this is never gonna work.”

“I know. Come on.” He bumped a fist against Morrison’s shoulder and urged to him to peer around the corner. He wasn’t immediately mowed down, which meant the units were searching the field for other stragglers. Gabriel rolled after Morrison, following his lead until they were protected by a high section of wall. They’d managed to cross the field, and he relayed back to Robertson before following Morrison's blond head down into the gully.

Gunfire sang. Someone yelped over the comm.

“Another one bites the dust,” Morrison muttered.

Robertson followed up with a string of curses that made the urge to pluck out his earpiece overwhelming.

“Nice guy,” Morrison huffed, “I bet they saw him screaming his head off in the field and just wanted to get rid of him.”

“Quiet.” Gabriel gestured ahead. The gully sloped down and met the wall of the Omnium at a harsh angle. They might have been able to scale it, but the Bastion units would make short work of them while their hands were occupied. The only way up was the bridge itself, a good few meters over their heads, where the Bastions sat like carefree pigeons. A few grenades might take care of them, and they could manage the climb up, but the turret parked on the far corner of the roof would catch them.

Shit.

He put a hand against Morrison’s chest and pushed him flush against the wall. In the slip of shadow they were invisible if the Omnics decided to look for them. Once the sound of pulse munitions died away they would get up to pick off stragglers, giving them a few moments to get inside the doors, if they were smart and timed it right.

“I’ve got an idea—”

“You heard Roberston,” Gabriel muttered, “We’ll wait for the signal.”

Morrison’s head jerked out of cover. Gabriel grabbed him by his vest and dragged him back in the shade. “What are you _doing_?”

“His plan isn’t gonna work,” Morrison pressed. He leveled his cool eyes on Gabriel. They were back to mirrors, throwing back his attempts to guess at what was going on in his head. “I’ve got a good idea, Gabriel. We just need a distraction, and—”

“You can’t just rush out there,” Gabriel snapped. “We need to wait for that signal, Jack.”

He pressed back against the wall, both hands ready on his rifle. Adrenaline was doing a great job of keeping his strain from showing. Or maybe that was just the benefits of the program showing itself after so many long months.

Morrison growled low in his throat. God, he actually looked _pissed_ , like the shit plan and the rules of the game were Gabriel’s ideas, not some asshole’s. He pushed against Gabriel’s hold. “I’m not rushing out into anything,” he snapped, “I know what I’m doing.”

The pop of pulse munitions rang out loud in the simulator bay. Gabriel pulled one hand away from Morrison’s chest to rub at his temple. “Listen to me, Jack.” Gabriel couldn’t help his low tone. Morrison was equally stubborn and dedicated. Whatever he wanted to do would probably work with some twist of luck, but that wasn’t the goddamn point. “You manage to pull a win out, that’s great, but Robertson wouldn’t have earned it. You trying to show him up?”

A cocky grin spread across Morrison’s face. “Might be.”

“He _do_ something to you, Jack?”

Morrison blinked at him, slowly relaxing back against the wall. “Got stuck with him yesterday,” he mumbled, “He’s just an asshole.”

“If _you_ were in command right now, still alive and still kicking and giving out orders, you’d want them to be respected, right?”

“He doesn’t deserve—”

“We don’t get to decide that.” Gabriel shifted against the wall, reaffirming his grip on Morrison’s tactical vest. He’d given up on trying to run out into the fray, but Gabriel knew the determined glint in his eyes more than well enough. Morrison was currently fourth on the roster for a reason; his dogged determination to see the mission through was nothing short of impressive. The weeks when he got stubborn, though, and refused to listen or wait, were always the weeks Gabriel would take his spot.

Gabriel let a sigh roll free. Pulse munitions popped somewhere distant across the simulator, but he couldn’t see who was still left alive. No reinforcements and no new orders.

“If we rush in there we’re good as dead,” he said, “And then what use are we to Robertson if he finally pulls his head out of his ass long enough to look at the field?”

Morrison snorted. It wasn’t because he thought he was funny. “You’re telling me that if this was Oregon, that you wouldn’t want—”

“This isn’t Oregon.” Gabriel gritted his teeth and spat out the words. “Were you like this down on the border? Always questioning orders and running off to play hero?”

Anger brought out the words and Gabriel couldn’t bite down fast enough. _Fuck_.

Morrison’s eyes turned hard and cold in a second. He slapped Gabriel’s hand away from his vest and resigned himself to standing with his back against the Omnium retaining wall. His mouth pressed into a thin line as a flush rose to his cheeks.

“Jack, don’t listen to me,” Gabriel muttered, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He reached for Morrison’s arm, hoping a soft touch would take the sting out of what he’d said, but Morrison jerked away.

Gabriel had struck a nerve, and even though he knew that a stunt would get Morrison killed in a real-world scenario, he couldn’t help but curse himself as his stomach sank. He didn’t know shit about what Morrison had seen down in Laredo, only knew that it weighed heavy on his mind. Tactless wasn’t often a word he’d use to describe himself.

His throat slammed shut. Fuck.

Robertson’s voice boomed over the comms. “Calling retreat and regroup!”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding?” Morrison shoved away from the wall. Gabriel caught his arm and Morrison spun to face him, his eyes still burning.

He wanted to say something else, but all he could manage was a hoarse, “I’ll watch your back.”

“Fine.”

Gabriel walked with his back to Morrison’s, their heavy gear rubbing against each other’s. Gabriel kept his sights trained on the bridge, but Morrison kept them behind cover as they fell back toward the back of the simulator bay.

“The second we break cover split and run. Okay?”

“You’re the boss.”

Gabriel’s stomach gave a painful twist at the tone of Morrison’s voice. They broke cover, broke into a run, broke out in a sweat as simulated gunfire whistled through the air. They fell behind cover, gasping for breath. Robertson squatted nearby, with two more soldiers at either flank.

Pretty bad numbers, considering the mission was ten minutes in.

“Alright, listen up, dickheads,” Robertson growled, “We hit them hard straight on. Drop your ‘nades on the bridge. All we need is one man through to win and that’ll be me, so cover yourselves. Got it?”

“Got it,” they mumbled.

Gabriel lost his focus halfway through the details on the plan. Morrison’s shoulder brushed against his as he rocked back and forth on his heels, like it was impossible for him to sit still. The contact had Gabriel cursing himself yet again for failing to check himself. Yeah, just imply that a survivor with post-traumatic stress disorder only had himself to blame, that’ll go over well. No harm done. Fuck.

The urge to reach out for contact was overwhelming but Gabriel checked himself, focusing instead on Robertson’s low voice.

The plan was straightforward enough, even if it wouldn’t work. Bastion units opened fire as they ducked out of cover, winding through the field head-on using what little cover they had. Morrison got a lucky shot as a Bastion unit turned to follow Robertson and exploded into a shower of sparks. A grenade whistled through the air and landed shy of the Bastions. A long, shrieking beep escaped one before it was eliminated, and the shroud of smoke gave them enough of a distraction to get them to the final chokepoint.

“Okay, okay. You—” Robertson pointed to Fleming, “Drop down and get ready for my signal.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Morrison’s voice tore out in a low, guttural growl that put Gabriel’s teeth on edge. “Gabriel and I were just down there when you called the retreat.”

Robertson wheeled on Morrison, nostrils flared and lips pulled back to show teeth. “Are you questioning me, pretty boy?”

“Damn right I am,” Morrison spat back.

What the _hell_ had gotten into him? It wasn’t like Morrison to question orders, so either he was off his game or Robertson had _said_ something to him the day before. Morrison hadn't mentioned anything, but then again, they'd been a little preoccupied.

The two stared each other down. Robertson was a massive brute, and weak as he looked, he could probably take Morrison out with a single punch. Gabriel shifted closer to Morrison’s side, his shoulder rubbing against his.

Robertson’s eyes snapped over to Fleming. “Get down and wait.”

“On it.”

Fleming dropped out of sight.

“And you.” Robertson leaned in dangerously close. Gabriel could see his grip tighten on the butt of his rifle, like he was holding himself back. “Listen up. Listen up real good. On my count toss your goddamn ‘nades and cover my ass when I go in. Simple enough for you?”

“You’re not gonna make it, asshole,” Morrison snarled.

“You got it, Robertson,” Gabriel interjected. The hulking man dragged his acidic glare from Morrison to him, painfully slowly, before giving a solid nod.

He counted. Gabriel pulled the pin and tossed the grenade over his shoulder, as did Morrison. The explosions rang off at the same time. Robertson charged ahead. Gabriel rolled free from cover and let simulated rounds fly into the haze of smoke.

Robertson didn’t account for the parked turret on the roof. The buzzer sounded to halt the end of the simulation.

Gabriel blinked harsh white light away from his eyes. Without the computers running, everything was just white plastic and astroturf.

“Told you,” Morrison sneered.

Robertson shouldered Morrison hard enough to knock him off his feet on his way out. Gabriel stumbled to his side, offering a hand that he didn’t take.

-

The second they were out of the debriefing room Gabriel latched on to Morrison’s vest and pulled him around the corner, just out of earshot of Robertson and Fleming. “What were you _thinking_?” he hissed.

“You can be a real asshole, you know that?” Morrison snapped back. He glared down at Gabriel, flashing teeth. “How about you lay off?”

“What the fuck has gotten into you?”

Sure, they were stressed out, hadn’t managed to sleep much, and clearly Morrison had a problem with the hulking shithead—but that was no fucking excuse to question orders and act like a stubborn asshole. Anger boiled under Gabriel’s skin. The serum had made Morrison edgy before, and he hadn’t seemed in a particularly good mood that morning, but what had changed his previously bright outlook—

Maybe the sight of Perrault in the basement was all it had taken.

Morrison blinked hard. He jerked his head away before Gabriel could guess at whether or not there were tears in his eyes.

“Jack, what’s going on?”

Gabriel reached out for his hand, but Morrison snapped it away from his touch. “Don’t.”

He let his hands swing idle at his sides. “Jack, please. Talk to me.”

“That was a goddamn mess, but we could’ve pulled off a win,” he muttered, voice low and strained, “All he had to do was ask for positioning.”

“That’s not what’s bothering you,” Gabriel said, softer, “Jack, you can talk to me. You know that.”

Morrison turned his head a little. His eyes were still hard and distant, but Gabriel could see that some of the anger had drained out of him. He sniffed and brought a hand up to his eye, like he was checking for tears. “Dreamed about it again,” he said. He stared down at his boots, shuffling his heels against the floor.

The intercom sparked with commands for them to move on to their next rosters, but Gabriel remained still at Morrison’s side.

“About—”

“Home,” Morrison mumbled, “And Los Angeles and Laredo and—” he sucked in a sharp breath, silvery eyes darting around the hall, artfully avoiding Gabriel. “Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“What you said about the border.” Morrison’s gaze finally settled on the floor. He twisted his hands together, dragging nails along his knuckles and leaving trails of red.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Gabriel mumbled, eyes stuck on his nails pricking into his skin.

Morrison gave a sharp shake of his head. “Did you mean it?”

“I—” the worst part was that he definitely had. He didn’t know much about what Morrison had done down on the border—Morrison talked about it infrequently, and always vaguely—but he knew enough to know that he should have bitten his tongue.

The truth would hurt, but he owed Morrison that much.

“Yeah.” Gabriel’s throat tightened painfully, straining his words. “I meant it.”

Morrison leaned back against the wall, his hands still wrung together. “I thought so.” The words tumbled flat from his mouth. He held Gabriel’s gaze, his eyes dark and hard.

A little spike of fear and shame worked up Gabriel’s spine. “Listen, Jack—”

The intercom repeated the earlier command for them to return for their next assignments. Gabriel cursed the whole damn facility under his breath.

“Sometimes I worry about you,” he said, “Maybe I shouldn’t, but—you can’t afford to get cocky. If you go back out there thinking like that—”

He’d get himself killed.

The image of Morrison, his body riddled with holes, slammed into his head and stuck there. Blond hair matted with blood. Skin covered in ash and dust. Arms broken, body bleeding out, chest rising and falling with frantic breaths—

“That’s all I meant.” Gabriel dropped his voice to a whisper. Morrison kept his eyes trained on the floor, but he pulled his hands apart and let them fall to his sides. “I just don’t want you getting hurt out there.”

Morrison pushed away from the wall without another word and walked ahead. Gabriel let him go.

-

The last three missions of the day all ended in abject failures. When he finally got to hit the showers he was sure his legs would give out under him. Dressed and half-dry he was ushered out into the mess hall. He kicked back at a table with Kowalski, who was trying to catch some sleep and didn’t notice him.

Exhausted and bitter he folded down to match her and closed his eyes.

Close to answers, but he sure as hell didn’t feel any better about it. Starving, too, but the line was too long and the food wasn’t worth it. His stomach growled. Gabriel slid a hand over his torso as if to quiet it.

Downright fucking miserable was one way to describe his mood.

But Morrison would forgive him, right?

The smell of salt rose on the air. Gabriel lifted his head off the table and swore he could feel a soft breeze against his skin. Unnerving as fuck—something he’d dreamed about, maybe?

A chorus of voices rose above the gentle murmur of the mess hall. Someone yet out a long, low whistle. Gabriel turned slowly to see a tight-knit cluster of soldiers from both facilities, all centered around a tall, blond man—Morrison?

“What gives?” Kowalski mumbled, too tired to lift her head, “Someone get a win?”

Morrison ducked under hands determined to ruffle his hair, an uncertain grin on his face. He stopped when his eyes met Gabriel’s, his expression shifting from pleased to terrified in a second. A moment later he was perfectly neutral again, his only tell the wringing of his hands.

“Hey, Jack,” Gabriel mumbled, “Mission went well, huh?”

Morrison lingered by the end of the table, staring at the spot beside him. They _always_ sat together. _Always_. Even when they were barely speaking. Gabriel’s throat was uncomfortably tight.

He had to talk, but words failed to come to mind.

“So, what’s the deal, Blondie?” Kowalski chirped, oblivious to the tension between them. “You score one?”

“Yeah,” Morrison said, “I did.”

“Shit.” Gabriel lifted his chin and force a smile, but he could tell from Morrison’s glassy eyes that he knew it was fake. “How’d you do it, Jack?”

“I, uh—”

“There he is. Little smartass.”

Two huge, hulking shapes appeared at the edge of Gabriel’s vision. Robertson and Fleming, both matched in height and bulk.

The cold edge of panic pressed against his throat with every step they took.

Morrison twisted as Robertson’s big hand smacked down on his shoulder and curled in his shirt. “What’d you do to get a victory, huh? What kind of favors did you have to pull to get the rules changed?”

Morrison jerked his chin away, staring hard at the floor. Robertson gave his sweater a shake. “What’s the matter? Not gonna defend yourself?”

“Guess he’s all talk,” Fleming grunted.

Gabriel slid off the bench, moving slowly. “Enough,” he said, voice low and strong. He held Robertson’s perplexed gaze as he walked forward.

He’d broken up fights with nothing more than words before, but he’d never faced off against two hyper-violent, overgrown _brutes_.

“Let him go. Now.”

“Guess pretty boy needs his boyfriend to rescue him,” Fleming barked.

“Leave him out of this,” Morrison hissed, “This is between us.”

Robertson pulled Morrison forward by his sweater and then threw him back. Morrison stumbled back, and Gabriel moved to intercept him. His warm body hit him hard, pushing out his breath.

Morrison’s cool eyes shifted toward him. There was something bright and dangerous there next to the red flush of his skin. Gabriel had seen it before, and the memory was almost sickening. He patted his hands down on Morrison’s shoulders. “We need to walk away, Jack,” he whispered.

“Like hell.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jack—”

Gabriel moved out in front of him before he could sprint across the floor and deck one of them in the nose. He put a hand behind his back to hold Morrison at bay. The idea of breaking their noses was nothing if not goddamn delightful, but they each had two strikes and couldn’t afford a fight, not when Deschamps was itching for an excuse to hang their asses out to dry.

The mess hall was starting to get loud. The line up to the cafeteria was becoming a ring around the four of them, and hungry eyes were stuck on him and Morrison. Like fucking predators waiting for blood.

Shelton and Liu had mentioned a knife fight before. Maybe it hadn’t been the only one.

Morrison just had to go and mouth off.

“I don’t got a problem with you,” Robertson growled. He stalked to the right. Behind him Fleming stood idle, arms crossed over his massive chest. “Get out of the way.”

“Back off,” Gabriel snapped.

Morrison strained against his hold.

Robertson’s big hand snapped out and rolled up in the collar of his shirt. Gabriel was dragged forward, the cloth digging into the back of his neck. God, he could see veins threatening to pop on his sweaty forehead, and swallowed hard. “Your little bitch boyfriend thinks he can run his mouth and get away with it. He’s gotta learn that shit don’t fly.”

He wasn't particularly tall, but he'd always been heavy. Compared to the two brutes in front of him, though, who looked like they were getting extra injections, he probably looked like nothing. They looked down at him, through him. He was only an obstacle, but like hell if he was going to let one of them so much as get _near_ him. No matter how badly Morrison wanted to fight back.

He pushed his hand against Morrison's chest. He needed the grounding, needed an anchor. Adrenalin made him shake. Run or fight. He was good at not listening to it unless he needed to. A calm, clear head always won out. Always.

Gabriel curled his hand in Morrison’s sweater and pushed him backward as far as he could, straining to hold him back. The crowd was starting to get excited, sure of a fight now.

Fuck.

“What’s the matter? Scared he won’t look so pretty after I’m done with him?” Robertson grinned wide enough to show all of his teeth and gave Gabriel a shove.

A snarl ripped from Morrison’s throat. “Don't you dare touch him—”

“And what, pretty boy?” Fleming stepped in, rounded on Morrison from the left.

Fuck.

Now was a good time to panic. Gabriel tightened his hold on Morrison's sweater, but every step he took back was stolen by Robertson and Fleming’s advance.

“Fucking coward,” Fleming spat, “Should have known you were just a little bitch, too scared to get blood on your hands.”

“Well.” Robertson cracked his knuckles with a sickening pop. “I’m not.”

A meaty fist swung toward him. Gabriel flinched and recoiled, losing his grip in Morrison’s shirt. He shot away from Gabriel’s side like a blink of gray and yellow to swerve around Robertson.

The sickening crunch of bone hit his eardrums hard. Gabriel stumbled backwards and forced his eyes open in time to see Morrison drive his knee into Robertson’s sternum, both hands on the back of his head. Blood poured down the man’s face, dripping from his split lip.

Holy _fuck_.

Fleming advanced on Morrison from his flank, grabbing the back of his sweater and pulling him off his beaten friend.

Gabriel’s nerves snapped like a rubber band, driving him between Fleming and Morrison. “Get your fucking hand _off_ him,” he growled. He threw out a hand against Fleming’s chest, hard enough for him to stumble backwards.

Someone screamed. Someone else let out a whoop. Fleming circled him, anger burning bright and hot in his eyes. Gabriel let his eyes flicker back to Morrison.

Morrison moved so fast Gabriel almost couldn’t track his movements. Robertson folded over Morrison’s leg, his already smashed nose grinding into his knee. He screamed bloody murder, and Morrison shucked him off to roll to the ground. A moment later he was on top of the already defeated brute, fists flying.

“Can’t believe you’re getting your ass kicked by some little queer,” Fleming laughed, “Pathetic. Watch how it’s done.”

Fleming rolled his massive hand into a fist and swung. Gabriel was too slow to move, and felt the impact in a strange, distant way. The floor knocked the breath out of him.

Blood pounded hard in his ears. He could taste blood, and pawed at his face. Split lip, not a big deal. He spread his hands out against the floor and twisted. Fleming lorded over him, far too preoccupied to notice that Morrison had gotten up. He wiped blood away from his face with his sleeve.

“Get up,” Fleming barked.

Morrison circled behind him. On the ground, Robertson let out a pathetic, strained gurgle. He’d recover fine, but he was definitely down for the count.

“Up,” Fleming repeated, “Fight me like a man, faggot.”

Gabriel grimaced at the word. Fuck, no one had _ever_ spoken to him like that.

The crowd began to murmur, clearly as uncomfortable as he was with the slur. Gabriel wiped blood away from his mouth. His sleeve was stained red.

"Shut the fuck up," Robertson groaned, "That shit's not cool, Brad."

Fleming made a show of rolling his eyes. "Whatever." He rolled his huge fists, cracking his joints. "Get. Up." He started toward Gabriel, and he couldn't hide a flinch.

Morrison came up behind Fleming, one hand around his neck, a knee in his back, and dropped him hard to the floor. He spun around him in a second, moving like he was propelled by nothing but blind rage, a fist arching toward his face. Fleming rolled to the side fast enough and Morrison screamed as his fist hit the floor instead.

Gabriel scrambled to his feet. Blood pounded in his ears. Morrison and Fleming rolled on the ground, grunting with exchanged blows. An opening came and Gabriel rushed in to hook his arms under Morrison’s armpits. “Enough,” he snapped.

Morrison kicked and struggled in his hold. The whole of his body was shaking hard, from frustration or adrenaline or maybe both.

“It’s just me, Jack. They’re not worth it.”

“He called you a—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Gabriel threw his weight and swung Morrison away. The crowd broke to let them out of the mess hall. Behind them, he could hear Fleming cursing under his breath.

“Come on, Jack,” he muttered, “Let’s get some space, clear our heads, yeah?”

Morrison struggled out of his hold. “Yeah, space,” he mumbled, “Just—need some space.”

Gabriel turned back toward the mess hall. The crowd, bored now, was beginning to return to their seats. Fleming was crouched over Robertson, laughing at his smashed face like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. What good friends.

It was clear enough that they were done with trying to fight, but Gabriel had no illusions that Deschamps and Castillo would have lots to say about it.

“Hey, Jack,” he mumbled, “I’m really sorry this happened. Are you okay?”

Silence. He turned his head slowly. A dirty, empty hall stared back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	25. Chapter 25

The dirty hall stretched in front of him. Quiet as hell. Gabriel wiped away at the blood that was swiftly drying on his chin. Morrison had to know that he couldn’t run away from punishment—and he definitely knew as well as Gabriel did what this slip-up meant for them.

The question of what happened to those discharged from a top-secret military unit edged in against his mind, but Gabriel forced it away, swallowed it down.

A few steps past the washroom door he caught the squeak of rubber boots, a hiss of breath, and the sudden, nerve-shredding shatter of glass. Gabriel turned on his heel and grazed the corner of the wall on his way in, and felt the breath slam out of his lungs like he’d been hit in the gut.

Morrison sat on the floor surrounded by shimmering pieces of broken glass. The mirror was shattered. Wide, scared blue eyes locked on his.

His nose was probably broken and one eye was almost swollen shut. The bridge of his nose and the hollow of his cheek were blackened. Gabriel stepped quickly to the sink, careful to avoid the pieces of glass, to soak paper towels under the tap.

“Look at you,” Gabriel sighed. He fell to one knee in front of Morrison and gently pulled one hand away from his face. Morrison flinched away as Gabriel pressed the towel against his split and bloodied knuckles. “What were you thinking, Jack?”

“I wasn’t.” Morrison’s voice came in a hoarse whisper, like it hurt just to talk.

He tore his eyes away and focused somewhere past Gabriel. There was a lot of blood. The cuts ran deep. It was obvious that Morrison had punched the mirror, but why, he couldn’t guess; he could only tell that all the fight had drained out of him.

When he lifted his eyes from Morrison’s knuckles he was staring at him, eyes wide and scared. Gabriel lifted a hand to his cheek, tracing lightly against his warm skin. “Talk to me, Jack.”

“What’s there to say?” Morrison’s voice trembled and shook. His lips pulled back in a grimace. “I fucked up, Gabriel. I fucked up, and—we’re going to get discharged—Deschamps is going to make sure of it, and—if it’s just me that’s okay, but you—”

“Jack—”

“You deserve better,” he whimpered, “You’ve worked so hard for this, and—”

Morrison bit down on his lip before he folded over his knees. His back moved with a shuddering breath. Gabriel smoothed his hand down his back, softly, slowly.

“He hit you,” he whined, “Because of—because I pissed him off—”

“I’m okay.”

In truth he couldn’t blame Morrison for wanting to throw those punches—Fleming and Robertson were high-caliber assholes—but it didn’t matter, because he was right. They’d slipped up despite all of Deschamps’ warnings, and they didn’t have enough to throw back in her face to avoid discharge.

“What did he say to you?” Morrison tore his eyes away. Gabriel let go of his hand and tossed the bloodied paper towel aside. “You can talk to me, Jack.”

“He couldn’t have known—” Morrison hid his face in his hands and rocked forward. “—or maybe it’s obvious and I’m just a fucking mess—”

Gabriel fell back on his haunches on the grimy bathroom floor in front of Morrison and pulled at his hands. “Look at me, Jack.”

Slowly he lifted his chin. His cheeks were flushed red, his eyes damp. Short, shaking breaths rattled in his nose. Gabriel let his hand return to his cheek and rested his palm there, just shy of the bruise under his eye. “You don’t have to be afraid, Jack. You don’t have to go home.”

The skin under his palm was trembling. He’d made a damn good guess, and his heart gave a painful squeeze.

“I didn’t want them to hurt you,” he muttered, “And—” A hand jerked out toward Gabriel’s face and he instinctively recoiled, earning him an even wider stare from Morrison as he pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, Gabriel, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Gabriel murmured. No, it wasn’t okay—it wasn’t anything _close_ to okay—but the truth would only sting. He reached for Morrison’s hand in his lap and took it gently in his, moving the pad of his thumb slowly over his knuckles. “You can talk to me, Jack. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Morrison’s fingers flexed around his hand, circling his palm in a firm grip. “I just want—I just want it to be quiet.”

“Quiet. Okay.” Gabriel rocked back on his heels. “Do you want me to go?”

“No. Please—” Morrison pulled in a shuddering breath. “Stay.”

His brow drew, and for a moment an immense focus caught his eyes, before his lids slid shut and a sob rolled from his throat. Gabriel moved forward slowly, waiting to see if Morrison would pull back toward the wall, but he leaned forward as Gabriel let his arms slip around his back. He fell onto his shoulder with a shuddering breath.

Morrison’s forehead pressed into his shoulder, then rolled into the curve of his neck as a racking sob moved his back. He wasn’t quiet, and Gabriel could only guess at how long Morrison had bitten back on his emotions, at how deep that hurt was buried.

Hands twisted in the back of his shirt. He pushed a hand into Morrison’s hair and tucked himself into the groove of his shoulder.

The whole of his body shook. Every breath was a sharp hiss through his teeth. Gabriel could tell that he was still holding back and pulled back enough to smooth a hand along his cheek. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “It’s okay to cry, Jack.”

It was like all he needed was permission. Tears slicked down his reddened cheeks. He choked back sobs before letting it out in short hiccups and broken gasps. Gabriel smoothed his hand across Morrison’s jaw and brushed his fingers along his forehead. He pushed his hand back through Morrison’s short, soft hair, until the hiccups stopped and his breaths slowly became more even.

Morrison opened bleary eyes and blinked hard until the flow stopped. Gabriel brought his free hand up and rubbed the tears away with his thumb.

“Feel better?” he murmured.

“Yeah.” Morrison’s throat bobbed. He coughed to clear his throat and wiped at his face with his sleeve, clearing away some of the blood, snot, and tears. “I haven’t—I can’t remember the last time I—I dreamed about home. Last night. I don’t know why, but it felt so real, and—” his gaze flicked to the broken mirror. “He used to, um—”

Gabriel smoothed his thumb over his cheekbone. The shards of glass were bright against the dirty floor. A few were flecked with his blood.

“He thought I was weak.” Morrison lowered his chin, eyes falling closed. “He wanted me to be more like him, but—but I was just his broken son who couldn’t do a damn thing right.” The words fell flat out of his mouth and echoed hard in Gabriel’s head. “I wasn’t a good kid, I know that, but—”

“You didn’t deserve it, Jack.”

A long, deep sigh rolled free from Morrison’s chest. “I know that,” he mumbled, “I’ve always known that. There’s nothing wrong with me.” He shifted forward, close enough that Gabriel could smell the dried blood under his nose. “But it still hurts.”

Gabriel fought to find words, but Morrison beat him to it.

“I was angry enough before, but after what they said…does it bother you?” His mouth tipped into a frown as his brow drew tight across his forehead. “What they said about you.” Morrison pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, then sucked in sharp breath. “About…us.”

Gabriel’s heart slammed hard in his chest, about as unforgiving as a mallet. His throat swelled tight, but he managed the words, hoarse and strained and painful as they were. “...Is there an _us_?”

The grip on his wrist tightened, just for a moment. Morrison’s mouth dropped open. Gabriel let his hand brush low, close to the corner of his mouth. He was far too terrified to look away from his wide, damp eyes. Something flickered there, beyond the gray and blue tones, something open, something vulnerable.

Morrison tucked his chin down. With the contact broken Gabriel heaved a sigh and swept his thumb over his cheek before he pulled away to stand. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, “And face Deschamps before she comes looking for us.”

“I’ll take the heat,” he muttered, “No matter what the punishment is.”

“Relax.” Gabriel turned on the sink to wet another paper towel. There was still dried blood on his lip. He worked away at it, all too aware of Morrison’s eyes on him. “We’ll be okay, Jack. You didn’t throw the first punch. Maybe she’s in a good mood today.” It wasn’t likely, and the idea of being discharged was somehow both tempting and terrifying in the same moment. It would be a dishonor, and he would have wasted six months being completely useless to the war effort, but he’d be able to go home, to get a job, to try to help his family out as best he could. Not a great option, but he had to start thinking of exit scenarios.

He caught his reflection in the busted mirror. The bruises on his nose had faded somewhat, but the addition of his split lip made him look beaten and miserable.

Gabriel tossed the bloody towel in the bin and cupped cold water in his hands. It was freezing cold against his skin and he wiped it away in a hurry. He pulled fresh towels from the rack and wet them, too, before turning to Morrison, who was standing still, staring into space.

He gently took Morrison’s chin in his hand and wiped away at the dried blood. The bruises under his bright eyes already looked lighter, and so did the green tint around his nose. He was reminded of the quickly healed cut on Morrison’s arm from the day before and felt the impulse to check under his bandage.

“It’s going to be okay.” More lies, but he could see that Morrison needed to hear it, and repeated himself softly, slowly, until his face was clear. He cupped Morrison’s strong jaw in his hands, letting his thumbs sweep across his skin. “You’ll be okay, Jack. No matter what happens.”

“I have nowhere to go,” Morrison mumbled. He choked back on a sob and reached up for Gabriel’s wrists. His hands shook hard, and Gabriel could see tears start in his eyes again. “I can’t go back to Indiana, Gabriel.”

“You don’t have to, Jack. You’ve got money. Options. It’ll be okay.”

He gently shook his head. Blond hair flopped down over his forehead. Gabriel brushed it away.

“You don’t know that,” Morrison mumbled.

Morrison’s hands fell away from his wrists and tangled in the front of his sweater. His cut knuckles already looked better, but Gabriel wanted to kiss them anyway, wanted to pour love into the wounds.

“Tell you what.” Gabriel swept his hand soothingly over Morrison’s forehead and into his hair until his eyes closed and a contented sigh left his lungs in a puff of warm air. “If we get those papers…” Gabriel swallowed the lump in his throat. His heart slammed hard in his chest, and the fear that Morrison could hear it started a sweat on the back of his neck. He swallowed it  down and forced a smile as he swept his hand through Morrison’s soft hair. “Come home with me.”

Blue eyes snapped open. Morrison held his gaze for a painfully long moment before he tucked his chin down. “I couldn’t—”

“You could.” Gabriel pulled his hand down along Morrison’s hair, down his warm neck, and let it settle over his heart. It was beating fast and hard like he was panicked. He smoothed his sweater under his palm. “There’s enough room at my house,” he said, “Until we find a place.”

Morrison choked back on a sob that turned into a light, airy laugh that made Gabriel’s heart ache. “We could fix up that house down the street,” he said, “The one you, um—”

Gabriel’s breath left him in a rush. His throat swelled so tight it felt nearly impossible to breathe. “You remember that?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Morrison’s soft, feather-light voice sent a shiver racing through his nerves. “We could make it ours.”

The toe of Morrison’s shoe knocked against his. He fought to breathe, to _think_ , overwhelmed by the warm hands on his chest, by the sharp tang of oranges and the heat of his body.

He remembered.

He’d told Morrison about his hopes for the days after the war years before, in his bedroom back home, in the quiet hours of the night, and he _remembered._

Gabriel pulled his eyes away, afraid of the tears that stung at his eyes. “It’s a pretty small house,” he said, “We might step on each other’s toes.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“The, uh—plaster needs to be fixed. But it’s got a big yard and a porch, and—” Gabriel stopped himself with a soft shake of his head. “Someone’s probably already bought it and fixed it up by now.”

“That’s okay.” Morrison released his sweater and traced calloused fingers along his cheekbone. Gabriel shivered in the wake of his touch. “You mean it?”

Gabriel let his hand slide off Morrison’s jaw and took up his hand instead, smoothing his thumb along cuts and bruised knuckles. “I mean it, Jack.”

The contact felt like he was laid bare, every thought, every emotion clear as day on his face. Morrison’s fingers flexed and rolled in his grip, tightening around his hand. He let it drop, but they stayed linked together.

“Okay,” he whispered, “Thank you, Gabriel.”

Morrison smoothed a hand across his forehead, pushing through his curls. A bright, crooked smile laid on his lips, and Gabriel grinned back.

Morrison untangled his hand. Gabriel felt the absence of his touch like a dismissal, and let his eyes swing to the floor, embarrassed by the heat that flared under his skin. “Alright, let’s go see Deschamps and get this over w—”

Warm hands took hold of his head. Morrison stepped on his toes, but he bit down on a yelp when Morrison pushed his hair aside and leaned in to press his warm mouth to his forehead.

Gabriel’s knees threatened to give out. The warmth of the kiss cooled far too quickly as Morrison pulled away, his cheeks dark with a blush, one hand working at the nape of his neck. “I-I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

A cocky grin spread across his face, and he was handsome as hell despite the bruises, despite the tear stains. Gabriel kicked the toe of his shoe against the floor as he turned toward the door. “Let’s get this over with,” he groaned, “C’mon.”

“Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Might be a bit more painful.”

Halfway down the hall Morrison’s hand knocked against his. They curled their fingers together again, and Gabriel pulled him flush, bumping their shoulders together. “You okay, Jack?”

“Yeah,” he said. For once, Gabriel fully believed him. There was a bright spark in his eye despite the bruises, and a smile at the corner of his mouth so subtle someone else might have missed it. He wanted to kiss that little smile, but held himself back, if only for the sake of his split lip.

-

Deschamps sat behind a small desk in a small office, but there was nothing small about the strength of her words.

“Unbelievable,” she hissed. She set her palms on the table and leaned forward, fire bright in her eyes. “ _One_ simple command was too _fucking_ confusing for you two.”

Morrison’s hand, still twined with his, gave a harsh squeeze. He lowered his chin to stare at the floor. Gabriel couldn’t blame him for not being able to look her in the eye—Deschamps was a like a force of nature when she was angry, and it always seemed like she was a storm circling _him_.

Coordinator Castillo came into the office flanked by three more, all in dark suits who looked bored by the occasion. Deschamps combed a hand through her hair and sat, a simple smile curving up her lips. “Glad you could join me,” she said stiffly, “Now, we can begin our course of action.”

Discharge.

Gabriel didn’t recognize any of the suits, but it was clear they were in charge of Park Hills. His mind churned with things he knew, things he’d seen. He could talk his way out of it, throw enough doubt on her decision to throw them out of the program; all he needed was to find the goddamn words and the strength to say them.

Morrison’s thumb brushed along his palm. A shiver chased the contact.

“Mr. Morrison. Mr. Reyes.” Deschamps’ tone was clipped and clinical, her fake smile all the more sickening. “Although we’ve studied camera footage and determined you are not to blame for the outbreak of a fight in the mess hall, we have decided that punishment must follow.”

He had listened to enough people get chewed out back on base in Oregon to know that Deschamps had never done this, not formally, and she fought to keep her visage professional.

“You will be sent back in the morning. Consider this the end of your time in the advanced placement program.”

Gabriel forced a nod, mindful of the suits watching him. They could be brass, even if they didn’t look the type.

“Now.” Deschamps opened a folder and slid two pieces of paper across the desk. They weren’t discharge papers. She wasn’t qualified to hand them out. “You’ll be flown to Chicago and face a court martial for—”

“For what?” Morrison’s voice broke out, low and harsh, dangerous. “For defending ourselves?”

Deschamps’ eye flicked to the men in suits. It was clear that they had no inkling of their trip to Indiana, which wasn’t a surprise. It fit perfectly with the pieces he already had.

He’d wanted more time; guesses didn’t often get him anywhere.

“Worried about your reputation still?” Gabriel cut in.

Coordinator Castillo coughed to clear his throat. Deschamps held up a hand to him, as if to quiet him, and leaned forward on her elbows. “You always were too inquisitive for your own good.”

“I have a few more questions, if you’ll humor me.”

Morrison’s grip tightened on his hand. His palm was warm and damp with sweat, but Gabriel refused to let it go. He needed some of Morrison’s strength, needed to conjure up more of his own.

Deschamps’ mouth pursed into a frown, but she nodded, her eye flicking back to the suits. “Very well.”

“I thought it was strange at first,” Gabriel said, “No guards on base and no one bothered to watch the cameras. So you shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were when Jack and I left.”

One of the suits whispered to the person at his flank. Deschamps’ expression flattened.

She hadn’t counted on him telling them the goddamn truth.

“You got…out?” one of the suits, a hefty man with a shiny bald head asked. “You never mentioned this, Miss Deschamps. You know protocol.”

The muscles in her jaw fletched as she ground her teeth. “I didn’t think it necessary,” she spat, “No one was harmed.”

Gabriel gestured at his still-bruised nose. “I was, actually.”

Morrison stifled a snort. Deschamps’ glare turned on him. He could see that she was already breaking, trying to work out just what to say. Gabriel wasn’t above admitting that he was having fun watching her squirm, afraid her little conspiracy was falling apart at the seams.

“Didn’t want to attract the brass.” Gabriel leaned past Morrison to grin at the suits. “Can’t blame her for wanting to keep our escape hush-hush, of course. If the military found out you lost two super-soldiers with top-secret information in their blood, your asses would be on the line. Not mine. Not his.”

Deschamps squirmed.

“Figured that was all there was to it, at first,” Gabriel continued. Deschamps’ eyes widened. She _knew_ that he knew, and had to know that she was trapped. “Then I got thinking about _who_ selected all of our subjects. Why we got so many green senator’s kids. Thought about it again when we landed here because, funny enough, there aren’t any here. Just at our facility. Strange.”

Morrison shifted in his seat. “Not to mention one casualty to two-hundred.”

“You were testing serums here.” Gabriel fought to keep his voice low. It was a downright disgusting move. “Which is why so many of them are dead and the rest are walking around like they could drop any second.”

The suits leaned forward in their seats. One of them was starting to smile, like the whole thing was a stage play. Sickening.

“It makes a good story, doesn’t it? Put the veterans through the ringer, find out what the human body can take before you test the serums on your future politicians.” He paused, watching Deschamps’ expression for a tell. “How much did those senators pay you under the table to keep their kids safe and far away from the front lines?”

“Mr. Reyes, this is slander,” Deschamps hissed.

“It’s the goddamn truth,” Gabriel snapped back.

Deschamps curled her long fingers over the intercom on her desk before pressing a command key. “Dr. Hale, Dr. Ashhad, you are needed immediately for a physical and psychiatric evaluation.”

They started to respond but she cut off the comm and sat back, her smile gone. The game was over. They’d both set their pieces on the board, and all that was left was to wait for someone to decide the victor.

“This inductee has suffered delusions as a side effect of the serum before,” she said, “He requires a doctor.”

Coordinator Castillo stood. His shoes squeaked against the floor, but his smile seemed louder, somehow. “Brava, Olivia,” he said, “Such a grand scheme. You must be talking in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Deschamps’ eyes darted away. “None of this is true, Milo. They have no proof to back up their ridiculous claims.”

“Perhaps not, but this requires investigation.” He leaned against the edge of her desk. The suits were grinning now, and Gabriel couldn’t help but mimic them. “You two can go,” he muttered with a wave of his hand, “I’ll speak with you in the morning.”

Like hell if that didn’t feel like a victory, and he pulled Morrison into a tight hug the second the doors closed behind them. “Fuck,” Morrison breathed, “I’ll be happy if I never have to do anything like that again.”

Morrison’s bright laughter lifted his spirits. Grinning, he pulled his friend into his armpit and ruffled his hair. “Okay. Let’s brave dinner. I’m starving.”

“You think she’ll get fired?”

“It’s out of our hands now,” Gabriel said. “I wonder if that was what Dr. Hale had in mind.”

Morrison shrugged. “Out of our hands, remember?”

“And out of our heads, too. C’mon.”

He could worry over the details in the morning; he was starving.

-

Gabriel laid awake, eyes stuck on the ceiling, determined to ignore Olsen’s snoring. His arm was sore as hell and heavy as lead; they’d been dragged down for injections as normal, and the same strange, cloudy serum had been injected into his veins. They’d checked the cut on his arm and marked something on a clipboard he couldn’t make out. What mattered was that it had healed, even if a scar would remain.

It was long past midnight. He had mere hours left before he’d be up to face Castillo’s judgement. He’d never had much trouble sleeping, not even when his house was loud and overflowing with guests, not when he was in Oregon beaten down and hiding from Omnic recons, not even when the worst of the serums gave him fever and chills.

Salt stung in his nose, his eyes. The sun burned his skin. Stationary ceiling fans stared back at him.

“You should sleep.” Morrison’s words came in a small, soft mumble, his breath a puff of warmth against his bare shoulder.

Gabriel let his head roll to the side. Morrison was curled up with both hands tucked under his chin, one eye cracked open. Blond hair shifted down over his forehead, only a few bits stubborn enough to stay sticking up. Deep shadows had settled next to the bruises under his eyes, around his nose.

Morrison shifted to stretch one arm out in the space between them. Gabriel knew what he wanted and moved his hand out from under his blanket, lazily latching their fingers together.

“You’ve been awake for hours,” Morrison said.

His voice was thick and rough with sleep, and Gabriel smiled at the sound.

“You’ve been watching me that long?”

“On and off,” Morrison sighed. His eyelids drooped. “Having trouble, too.” His fingers twitched against the palm of his hand. He twisted into the pillow. “You should, ah…”

Morrison’s mouth dropped open as his eyelids slid shut. Gabriel let his gaze crawl back to the ceiling. Exhaustion begged him to try to sleep again, but the second he closed his eyes the floor beneath him would turn into an ocean, or a bed of sand.

He ran his unoccupied hand over his brow. Olsen had complained about visions and weird dreams, too, meaning the California beach was just another side effect.

Gabriel turned his eyes back to Morrison. He wouldn’t have called his features soft, exactly, not with the cut of his jaw and the strong profile of his nose, but he looked calm, peaceful. He let his eyes trace over his contented expression, over the smooth curve of his slightly open mouth.

Warm fingers flexed around his. Gabriel gave a firm squeeze back. He didn’t have a word for _them_ , not yet, not when he still felt torn open and vulnerable. They had time.

Part of him was tempted to shift across the mat and wiggle between Morrison’s arms. He remained still on his back, content to rub his thumb over Morrison’s knuckles.

When had things changed? Had things ever changed at all?

A strange warmth bloomed in his chest. It felt old, alien, like something long forgotten, something better left buried.

But he’d made a promise, and he wanted to keep it.

A little house, barely enough space for two people, coffee on the porch in the mornings as the sun rose. They were too young to be thinking about such things, but he _wanted_ it, wanted something calm and simple, and he wanted _Jack_ , too. The thought stuck on the insides of his ribs, painful with every breath he took.

“Go to sleep,” Morrison mumbled, “You’re thinking too much.”

He hadn’t noticed when Morrison had opened one silvery eye. He fought back a smile and failed. Gabriel let his head roll back to the side, blinking slowly. “You can tell, huh?”

Morrison’s eyes fluttered closed. His mouth turned up at the corners in a smile so sweet and soft that Gabriel had to fight to breathe. “It’s pretty obvious, Gabe.”

Gabriel was too tired to correct him on the nickname and simply rolled his eyes. The ceiling fans overhead remained still, but he traced along the blades. He could feel Morrison’s gaze on his cheek, tracing along his profile.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

A sharp breath rattled in Morrison’s nose. Gabriel closed his eyes. A breeze ruffled through long curls and shifted through palm trees. Morrison laid out in the sand next to him, reddened under the sun, but the vision evaporated when Morrison’s hand pulled away to trace fingers along the lines on his palm. Gabriel suppressed a shiver and a laugh. “Don’t,” he grumbled, “I’m ticklish.”

“I know.”

He curled his hand around Morrison’s, if only to stop him, and rolled onto his side. Morrison’s eyes were soft and open, and Gabriel could feel his defenses melt away. “Are you flirting with me, Blondie?”

“Maybe.” Morrison’s hand was warm in his grip and Gabriel thought he would be happy if he never let it go. A sigh rolled free from Morrison’s lungs as he scooted forward, curling in on himself.

“You cold?”

“A little,” Morrison said.

Gabriel pulled his hand away from Morrison’s—he let out a soft whine that made his chest ache—and pushed the blanket away. He moved his pillow into the space between them and dragged his mat flush to Morrison’s before setting the blanket down over their legs. Morrison watched every move with a sharp, curious spark in his eye.

Gabriel settled down on the pillow, just shy of Morrison’s nose, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Up.”

Morrison obeyed, but kept his eyes trained on him as he stretched one arm out over his pillow. Gabriel tapped his bicep, and Morrison seemed to understand, a shy smile spreading across his lips. It looked like daybreak, fresh and clear and breathtaking.

He settled on Gabriel’s arm with a sigh. His skin was warm despite his complaints, and Gabriel snorted. “You’re a furnace, Jack. How are you cold?” Gabriel hooked one finger in the collar of his sweatshirt and gave it a tug. _His_ sweatshirt, bundled over top of the one embroidered _Morrison_. “Two sweaters, huh? I was wondering why you kept mine.”

Morrison’s face scrunched up. He let out an annoyed puff and squirmed into the embrace. “Don’t make fun of me. I get cold at night.”

Gabriel folded his arm around Morrison’s head, pulling him into the crook of his neck. Distance be damned. He let one hand smooth down Morrison’s flank to settle on his narrow waist. “Better?”

He felt Morrison nod against his chest. His back rose with a long, deep breath. The quiet sat for a long, still moment. Gabriel’s arm would definitely fall asleep, but Morrison looked good wrapped up against his chest. He shifted fingers through his hair, entranced as it sprang back up into its usual cowlick.

“Is it bad that I’m disappointed?” Morrison’s voice was rough with sleep. He lifted his chin slightly, enough to look Gabriel in the eye.

“Disappointed about what?”

Morrison’s eyes darted away. They were clear and bright as stars, even in the dark. Gabriel smoothed his hand through his hair. He might have been cautious about the contact the day before, hell, even that _morning_ , but now it felt as natural as breathing.

“That we’re _not_ getting kicked out,” Morrison mumbled. His gaze swung back around, and Gabriel struggled to breathe. “That we won’t get to go to Los Angeles.” He shut his eyes for a long moment, heaving a soft sigh. “I haven’t had a home in so long, Gabe.”

Gabe again. He found he didn’t mind it so much, and brought his hand in a curve along Morrison’s cheekbone. “Hey, you never know. Coordinator Castillo might have a problem with us we don’t know about.”

Morrison let out a laugh and promptly bit down on his lip. “Guess we should try to stay quiet,” he whispered.

Gabriel let his eyes fall closed. Morrison’s hand slid over his hip and spread out against the small of his back. Muscles flexed, and Gabriel followed the silent command to move closer until they were flush. Morrison’s foot kicked between his and he bit down on a laugh. “Don’t kick me, Jack.”

Morrison’s foot slid away. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Slowly, the same foot slid over his ankle and hooked around behind his feet. It certainly wasn’t comfortable, but Morrison relaxed against his chest. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “You’re so warm. My feet are cold.”

“Pathetic. What kind of Midwesterner are you?”

“Why do you think I joined up in L.A.?”

Gabriel tightened his arm around Morrison’s head and ruffled his hair. Morrison squirmed in his grip, but he could see his teeth show behind a smile. Someone coughed from a nearby mat and Gabriel went still, listening hard.

Morrison lifted his head from his arm, silvery eyes searching the dark. He seemed to deem it safe and settled back with a soft sigh, the tip of his nose brushing against Gabriel’s.

The contact sang through his nerves. Gabriel swallowed hard.

Morrison remained quiet and still, his eyes half open, locked on his. Gabriel waited for him to pull away, but he was frozen, his breath held.

Gabriel couldn’t think. His heart slammed in his chest and his nerves sang, all too aware of the press of Morrison’s hand on his back, of the feet entangled with his. The night laid still and solemn around them, time frozen. Gabriel shifted his hand through Morrison’s hair from his temple to the nape of his neck and back again, daring to draw closer with every movement until he could smell his toothpaste beside the sharp tang of oranges.

The bridge of his nose was still bruised and sore, and so was Morrison’s, but Gabriel could ignore the discomfort. Sandy eyelashes fluttered closed as Morrison brought in sharp, shaking breaths, his breath warm and soft against Gabriel’s lips.

He let his eyes fall closed. Morrison’s fingers curled in his shirt at the small of his back.

Gabriel tucked his hand under Morrison’s chin and gently tipped his lips up against his own.

A wave of warmth rolled over him. Blood rushed in Gabriel’s ears, aided by a thudding heart. He laid everything bare in the kiss. Doubts vanished from his mind. There was only him and Jack, _his_ Jack.

Nothing between them, nothing more left unsaid.

Jack pulled back slowly. Gabriel let his eyes flutter open and allowed his gaze to roam over Jack’s flushed cheeks, his intense eyes, his parted mouth.

“Breathe,” Gabriel said, smoothing his hand back into his hair.

Jack pulled in a deep breath and held it, his grin growing before he let it out. “Oh.”

Gabriel fought back a grin and ultimately failed. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

Jack shifted close, his breath warm against his lips. Instead of giving him an answer he kissed him and pushed Gabriel onto his back with a warm palm.

Gabriel chased his lips as he wound both arms around Jack’s neck, oblivious to the world beyond the confines of their joined mats. Warmth spread through his body, slow and languid and _perfect_ , until he was dizzy with endorphins and had to break the kiss for breath. Jack pulled back, a short, soft laugh rushing out from his throat. Jack ran his thumb along his split lip. He was gentle enough that he hadn’t broken the wound, and Gabriel’s heart surged.

Gabriel ran both hands into soft blond hair and smiled at how Jack arched into his touch, eyes falling closed. “Jack, I—”

Something shiny moved in the dark. Jack’s eyes flickered to the side, too slow to avoid Olsen’s swinging prosthetic arm, and let out a low hiss as a metal and plastic hand fell on top of his head. Gabriel craned his neck. Olsen was still snoring—what a romantic backdrop—but had wandered pretty far off her mat.

Gabriel gently moved her arm back onto the floor. Jack was flushed red, but he lowered himself back to Gabriel’s mouth despite the interruption.

Each following press of Jack’s lips was softer than the last until he pulled away, smiling down at him like nothing else in the world existed.

“Warm?”

Jack tucked himself under his  chin. His feet kicked against Gabriel’s and he suppressed a laugh, felt an echo of it in Jack’s back.

Soft words rolled out from Jack’s throat.

“What was that?”

Jack lifted his chin. His blue eyes were soft and clear, and Gabriel thought that maybe they’d never turn back to mirrors. He ran his hands down Jack’s shoulders, smoothing the layers of sweaters under his palms.

“Don’t let me go,” Jack whispered.

Gabriel pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead and gave a gentle shake of his head. “I won’t,” Gabriel said, “I mean it, Jack.”

"I know."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	26. Chapter 26

With Jack curled up against his chest, hands pulled into fists in his thin tank top, Gabriel was sure he'd sleep more soundly than he had in weeks. He ran his fingers through Jack's hair as his breathing slowed, and didn't dare move even after his arm fell asleep. The night was soft and still around him after Olsen's snoring dulled to a whine, and he listened to the gentle sighs of his fellow soldiers. Jack's ribs stretched against his sides with slow breaths.

Sleep didn't come easy, however; when his eyes slid shut he would find himself back in California, the sky blacker than he'd ever seen it, fire and ash raining down over his head. Eventually he fell into a different world, filled with screams and the reek of smoke and the crunch of debris under his boots. When Jack woke him with an elbow in his side in the morning, Gabriel felt nothing but relief.

The gymnasium was still, and there were no traces of sunlight in the high windows. Early; probably around 0500h.

Jack shifted in the crook of his arm, a soft, muted groan filling in the quiet. Fingers dug into Gabriel's ribs. He coiled away from the touch. "Quit it, Farm Boy."

"G'morning," Jack slurred. His voice was rough but sounded good despite the grit, and Gabriel let a smile show on his face as Jack pulled off his chest, blinking sleep away from his eyes. He flipped back the blankets. Gabriel bent up to retrieve them.

"Hey, I'm not up yet."

Jack sat upright, hunched over, his hair a mess of scruff on top of his head, eyes closed. He pawed at Gabriel's chest absently. "Feel like a run?"

"Fuck no," Gabriel groaned. He tossed an arm over his eyes and rolled onto his side, and grunted when fingers prodded into the small of his back. He just needed a little more sleep after a night spent dreaming. That wasn't too much to ask.

He heard Jack flop onto the mat and grunted when a warm body pressed up against his back. "You sure?" Jack mumbled.

"We'll wake everyone up," Gabriel muttered. He peeked out over one arm. Olsen was still fast asleep, and so was everyone else, as far as he could tell. The new injections, bad food, and relentless drills had weathered them all down. How Jack didn't feel it was a goddamn mystery, or just his farmer's blood. "Besides," he sighed, "Mornings are for reading."

"Mmm." Jack reached over his chest, searching for his hand. Gabriel gave it a squeeze before pulling his hand back under the blanket. Jack pressed a kiss to his temple and pulled away. If he hadn't been half-asleep, Gabriel would have melted. "You bring a book?"

Gabriel flung an arm out for his kit bag. "Of course I did."

Jack's hand brushed over his. Gabriel pulled himself up, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. Stiff and sore as hell, thanks to sleeping in one position the whole night, but a deep contentment had settled in his bones nevertheless.

Jack passed him his book with a wry smile. "Stephen King again, huh?"

Gabriel got Jack to pass him a change of clothes and his toiletry bag and didn't wait up. Jack fumbled through his own bag before catching up, chattering away. Jack's Midwestern accent flared under his words, and Gabriel wondered how much effort he took to tone it down. Maybe he was too tired to hide it. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about it at all. As it stood, Gabriel was too exhausted to absorb the details of whatever type of aircraft Jack was talking about, and simply listened to the clip and stretch of his sleep-rough voice, smiling to himself as he nodded along.

A warm shower was enough to drive some of the black smoke out of his head. He'd dreamed about California; nothing about that was unusual, exactly. More often he was too tired to dream.

Jack hummed under the next shower, eyes closed, head bobbing along to whatever ancient piece of garbage was stuck in his head. Gabriel caught the tune when his eyes started slipping down well-muscled shoulders. The goddamn Beach Boys.

Gabriel toweled off and got dressed. His limbs were stiff and sore. He checked over the cut on his arm; it was little more than an angry red line, and it didn't hurt when he prodded at it, but he still couldn't stand to look at it. He watched Jack pace to the sinks, setting out his kit. Gabriel popped off the bench and onto the counters beside him, swinging his feet, thumbing through the pages of his book.

"So, Jack said, "What do you think the verdict will be?"

Gabriel watched his expression closely, unsure of what Jack meant. His tone was light but stiff, somehow, like the thought had been on his mind but he hadn't been able to figure out how to say it.

"Verdict?"

"From Castillo." Jack pooled water in his hands. Gabriel wasn't sure why Jack bothered to shave at all; his hair was so fair it'd take weeks for anything close to a beard to show, and they didn't have to adhere to normal grooming standards. Little beads of water dripped from his chin into the basin. "I mean, we uh—never found anything concrete." Jack spread shaving cream over his chin, making a face in the mirror that was so cute Gabriel's heart squeezed. "I don't know, maybe it's not worth worrying about."

Shit. He was right. Not that Gabriel had forgotten; he'd just been caught up in other things, like how he'd dared to kiss one of his best friends and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Gabriel coughed to clear his throat. "Yeah," he croaked, "We don't have any real evidence. But he said he'd investigate."

"How much help is that gonna be? Someone here has to be in on it."

The razor scratched over his cheeks. _Shhk shhk shhk_. Gabriel hated the sound, but liked the pull of Jack's mouth one way, then the other, as he worked the blade.

"Too bad we're not dealing with brass," Gabriel said, "Think he can be bought out?"

He worked his hands through his thick curls as the thoughts echoed in his head. Castillo didn't seem to have much in the way of personality; he'd always seemed too aloof for anyone to pay attention to him, especially when he was beside a natural commander like Deschamps. He didn't seem like the type to be overly concerned with material things, but he wouldn't have thought the same of her, either, when they first met in Portland.

And that was strange, too; why she'd bothered to collect him personally when she had more important business to attend to in Missouri. Unless she'd flown into Portland to secure a deal with one of those goddamn senators.

Jack was quiet as he finished shaving, rinsed his face, and buried his nose in a towel. Gabriel tossed his book aside, knowing he wouldn't be able to focus on the story.

"I just hope she gets kicked back to wherever she came from," Morrison mumbled from behind the towel. He copied Gabriel, pushing his hands up into his hair. He curved the strands up and slightly to one side, lip pulled between his teeth like it took all of his focus. No hair gel required, apparently. He cocked his head, adjusted a few strands. "Do you think we're still kicked out of advanced training?"

"Don't know, Gabriel sighed, "But are you really gonna complain about no more PRT?"

He gave a sharp shake of his head, flicking water out of his damp hair. "Definitely gonna miss it." He rolled his shoulders back, angling his head one way then the other, probably checking to see if he missed a spot. Cute but pointless. He swung around on his heel, a wry smile cracking at the corner of his mouth. He always looked good in the morning—in spite of his unruly hair—but not quite _this_ good. The greenish bruises were all but gone. One eye was still a little swollen, but if Gabriel hadn't been there to see the fight, he might not have noticed the imperfection at all.

"Give me your hand," Gabriel said.

Jack's expression cleared. He offered half-curled fingers. Gabriel turned his hand over and swept a thumb up the inside of his wrist. Jack let out a little gasp that had Gabriel's heart pounding as he tried to find the cut.

"It's gone," Gabriel muttered, "Huh."

"I didn't notice." Jack pulled his hand back to twine their fingers together. Gabriel's heart leapt against his ribs, hard and almost painful at the slight, innocent touch.

"Must be good. Whatever they're giving us," he mused. "You feel any different?"

"No."

"You sleep okay?"

Jack's mouth curved up into a quick, shy smile. He tucked his chin down, probably to try to hide it. "Yeah," he said, "Great."

Gabriel tugged on his hand to pull Jack between his knees and smoothed a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. Jack sighed into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. Gabriel thumbed along the curve of his cheekbone, over faded freckles and back over his temple, to curl his fingers in short, damp hair. Jack leaned in to steal the space between them. The smell of him—fresh, clean, masculine—was overwhelming, and Gabriel stilled. His heart pounded, slow and heavy like a bass drum. Fire raced through his nerves at the soft, chaste press of Jack's lips.

Jack pulled away slowly, mouth parted, one hand on Gabriel's knee. Somehow he could see right through him. Jack was still nervous, as nervous as he'd been the night before, struggling to breathe as he waited for Gabriel to kiss him. And Gabriel knew that Jack had been waiting, only didn't know how long.

He was scared too, even if everything had been communicated without words.

He realized he was staring, frozen and still, and let out a soft laugh, followed by a smile. "Hey, Jack?"

Jack's mouth scrunched up in a thoughtful pout. His eyes flickered over Gabriel, never settling. "Hm?"

Gabriel gave Jack's hand a firm squeeze and let the other slide around to the back of his neck, pulling him so close the sharp smell of his mint toothpaste was overwhelming. "You don't have to be nervous."

"Nervous," Jack echoed. The hand on Gabriel's knee curved up over his thigh, warm and firm but not demanding, not pushing. His throat bobbed. A pink tongue darted out over his bottom lip.

"What I mean is—" Gabriel ran his hand over the short hair at the nape of Jack's neck. His skin was warm and soft from the shower. "—I mean, I don't really know how this works, either."

Jack's gaze swept over his features, narrowed and scrutinizing, trying to piece together what he meant. Gabriel swallowed hard. Jack looked like he expected words as sharp as knives to roll off his tongue.

"I've always, uh—" Gabriel's throat was starting to go dry, as usual. He was nervous as hell, too; only one of his best friends in front of him, and one wrong word could cut deep. He knew that feeling well enough. "—I've always dated."

Jack cocked his head. God, Gabriel was making a mess of what he wanted to say. As usual, whenever he got nervous, he started fucking up.

"What I'm trying to say, Jack, is that I like you and I would have, you know..." he gestured with one hand, not entirely sure what he meant to convey. He let the hand settle over Jack's heart. "Taken you out somewhere. Three date rule, all that, and here—shit, Jack, stop looking at me like that."

A wide grin spread across Jack's face. His cheeks were tinted pink, and Gabriel was tempted to kiss him despite the knot he'd tied in his tongue.

"Oh."

 _Oh_. Eloquent. Just like him.

Gabriel let out a rattling sigh and rolled his eyes, avoiding Jack's amused stare. "I can't really take you out here," he said. Not to mention that what they were doing was probably frowned upon.

The thought had occurred to him before, of course; just because there were no brass on base didn't mean that the usual military rules didn't apply. He couldn't remember anything from the stacks of paperwork he'd signed. Hadn't been worried about it, at the time. But even if it was allowed in the SEP, it certainly wouldn't be out on the field.

If they even ended up on the field together.

Before he could say anything about it Jack kissed him. The contact was brief and chaste but it stole Gabriel's breath away and cleared the thoughts that stormed in his head.

"I've never actually been on a date," Jack said.

Gabriel pushed at his chest playfully, but the shy smile on Jack's face stuck. "Fuck, seriously?"

Jack's smile wavered, but he seemed to think better of taking Gabriel's comment seriously. "I went to an all-boy's school."

"And here you are kissing a boy."

"Well," Jack huffed, "I didn't say I'd never _kissed_ a guy before." He tapped his fingers against Gabriel's knee. "And, uh, yeah, military school isn't a great place for bi guys, at least not in Indiana, and—" Jack's cheeks flushed. He stuttered, smile gone, and Gabriel cupped his face in his hands.

"Relax, I'm teasing," Gabriel said. "Who was the lucky guy?"

Jack's eyes darted away, but his shy smile returned in full force. "What, jealous?"

Gabriel hummed. "Maybe."

"Neighbor kid." Jack rocked back on his feet, chin tucked down to avoid Gabriel's eyes.

"Same kid who bought you a harmonica for your birthday? The one you used to play country shit with?"

Jack's cheeks flared red under his hands. Gabriel soothed his thumbs over his freckled skin, biting back on a laugh as Jack pulled his lip between his teeth, making the answer clear as day.

"That's so cute, Farm Boy."

"Fuck off."

Gabriel pulled Jack down to his lips. Jack moved slowly, carefully, but Gabriel didn't mind, let him set the pace.

He wouldn't have called Jack shy, exactly—distant was a better word—but there was no other way to describe the way he kissed, and Gabriel's nerves flared hot under his skin. He was clumsy, but it was a little endearing, and Gabriel smiled into the kiss, spoke against his lips. "I want to take you to In-N-Out."

Jack pulled back and blinked hard at Gabriel. "To—what?"

"In-N-Out."

"What the hell is that?"

"You know." Gabriel pulled his hands away from Jack's face and gestured wildly. "In-N-Out!"

Jack’s look of pure confusion only made him laugh, and Jack turned beet red, sputtered, “Very helpful, Gabriel.”

Gabriel pinched Jack’s cheeks. He let out a hiss and Gabriel jerked his hands away, amused at how Jack’s expression shifted so quickly from annoyance back to curiosity. “It’s a burger joint,” he said, “California staple. Wish I could take you.” He paused to tug Jack’s cheek again, unable to hide his grin. “Spent a lot of time there through college. Great food.” The memories were old and muted but still held their color, and Gabriel’s grin widened at the idea of the two of them sitting at a table together, Jack stealing his fries, warm under the California sun. “We could share a milkshake.”

“Oh.” Jack’s smile lit up slowly, like the moon peering out from behind clouds. “Strawberry?”

“Sure.”

“That sounds really nice, Gabe,” Jack said. His warm palm slid up Gabriel’s chest, fingertips trailing against his collarbone. Gabriel swallowed hard.

“Again with the nickname,” Gabriel teased, “I’m beginning to think you like me, Farm Boy.”

“Maybe.”

Gabriel found it hard to care that they were in a dirty washroom in some creepy science-fair facility breaking regs when Jack kissed him again. The smell of him, the heat of his touch, the taste of his lips—it left him breathless and yearning. God, it had been so long since he’d felt an ache in his chest for someone like this. Jack kissed him slowly, carefully, still holding back. Gabriel worked a hand into Jack’s hair and tipped his head, and shivered when Jack parted his lips, their tongues sliding together briefly.

Gabriel twisted a hand in Jack’s shirt, pulling him flush. Jack grunted against his lips, pulling back for a moment to inhale sharply before he dove back for Gabriel’s mouth.

Peppermint. He tasted _good_ , and Gabriel knew this was moving too fast but was too far gone to care about where they were, or the fact that he never made a move until the third date.

God, he’d wanted to kiss him for so long, and like hell if he was going to waste his chance.

Voices carried down the hall. Jack groaned against his mouth before he drew back, his fair skin flushed red. “Right,” he mumbled.

“You forget where we were, Blondie?”

Jack rolled his eyes as he pulled his hands off Gabriel’s thighs. “Coffee?”

“Lead the way.”

-

A pathetic breakfast was followed by morning missions. Gabriel struggled to focus; not only was he exhausted and starving, but he was distracted by the way his heart kicked up pace every time he passed Jack in the change rooms or on their way in and out of the simulator bays. Jack’s mouth would quirk up at the corner, and Gabriel couldn’t manage to be as subtle, but no one seemed to think anything of it.

He wasn’t up for command until the evening rosters, but things were going well: Simmons pulled off a win by the skin of his teeth, even if it was no thanks to Gabriel—he’d been hit and removed from the match early on—and when he saw Carson in the change rooms he learned that he’d gotten down to the wire, on the brink of a win, when the power in the sim fluctuated.

As luck would have it, when he was strapped down and determined to avoid the tech’s eyes as he was pumped full of cloudy serum, the power died.

Olsen was surprisingly upset about the change, and simmered in the darkened weight room.

“I was up,” she groaned, “I was ready to take fucking names.” Olsen hammered a fist against a punching bag with a loud _smack_. “Now I’m all revved up with nowhere to go.”

Carson nodded along, murmuring his agreement. Kowalski draped herself across the squat rack, upside down, hair flipped like a halo around her head. “How long are we stuck here?”

“Might be awhile.” Jack leaned against the tall window. Outside, Gabriel could barely catch the brown and gray trunks of trees. Snowstorm. How lucky was he to get stuck in the _goddamn_ Midwest? “I’m surprised we’re not running on a generator.”

Gabriel paced to the window. He could feel the sting of the cold just from the proximity, and could only hope that the building was otherwise well-insulated enough to keep the lot of them warm if the power couldn’t be fixed before sundown. “Isn’t it a little early in the season for storms?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “But weather’s been weird around here for years, now.”

California had grown hotter and drier since he’d been born—wildfires were so common that no one seemed to think twice about them—but Gabriel didn’t know shit about winter storms or, really, anything about the Midwest.

Snow swirled against the window. Hard to see much but he kept his eyes locked on the scene, determined to ignore Jack, only because he had that little quirk at the corner of his mouth again.

He was numb as the topic of conversation shifted between theories about Deschamps and the training missions back to more mundane topics: the food back at their facility, the weather in their respective states, what they’d be doing over the coming holidays if they had the chance to go home, the rhythm of the conversation set by the _thump, thump, thump_ of Olsen’s fists against the punching bag. Gabriel touched the cool glass, then plopped down on his ass and leaned back against the window, kicking out his legs.

The digital clock over the door was dead, but the analog one beside it ticked away slowly, counting down the minutes until he and Jack had to see Coordinator Castillo.

Their meeting had been pushed back after the power outage—Castillo was busy trying to find a solution with the Park Hills coordinators—and Gabriel was restless, eager to put to sleep the gnawing feeling that something could _still_ go wrong.

Jack plopped down on the floor beside him with a long, deep sigh. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Maybe not _enough_ ,” Gabriel said. Part of him wished he’d held back on saying anything, no matter how good it felt to tear into Deschamps after all the bullshit she’d put him through—and whatever crap she’d done to _Jack_ —but he’d been ill-prepared for a proper debate.

She was slippery, that much he knew, and she’d try to find a way to squirm out of the net.

Jack leaned against his shoulder, warm and solid, and Gabriel’s heart kicked up between his ribs. “What’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?”

An arm slipped around his, fingers curling into the sleeve of his sweater. Jack tucked himself into the curve of his shoulder but Gabriel gently pulled away, eyes swinging back to their friends. Not that they were paying much attention—Kowalski was busy making jokes at Lewis’ expense, a favorite pastime—but if anyone else walked into the gym they weren’t exactly inconspicuous. He shrugged, hoping the movement would give Jack a clue, but he clung on, heaving a sigh as he snuggled against Gabriel’s side, setting his chin on his shoulder.

If they’d been anywhere else, he would have more than welcomed the gesture, but a spike of fear raced up his spine instead.

He didn’t want to be afraid to _like_ him, so Gabriel coughed to clear his throat and made a weak excuse about wanting a drink of water. Jack let him go, a fondness clear in his eyes, and Gabriel felt guilty even as he smiled back.

The long, dirty halls were empty. Outside he could see nothing but an endless stretch of white and curled his arms over his chest to fend off the creep of the cold.

Quick steps took him down to the med wing on a whim. Jack would probably come looking for him, but he had a little time to talk to Dr. Hale, one on one, if he could find him. He nodded to techs and nurses as he wound past exam rooms, one hand over his mouth to ward off the stink of bleach. It was dark and dim and he stumbled, but there were a few lanterns set out in the halls, orange light dripping down the walls like wax.

Dr. Hale sat at a bare desk under the glow of a flashlight, one hand propped under his chin. He waved Gabriel in before sitting back, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Ah, Mr. Reyes. I’d hoped to speak with you.”

“Likewise,” Gabriel said. “Do you have a few minutes, doc?”

“Of course. Sit.”

He fell into a rickety metal chair and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. The office was small and cramped, but it didn’t stink of chemicals like the hall did, and he managed to relax.

Thoughts slammed around his skull. Conspiracy. Who would have thought?

“You knew.” Gabriel kept his voice careful, neutral, watching for the doctor’s expression to shift in its usual, subtle way. The man was brilliant in the same way his father was—always waiting to speak, thinking through his words, something like a chess master with people instead of game pieces—but more subtle, more sly. Gabriel had wondered about SEP months ago, but he hadn’t given much extra thought to Deschamps herself until Jack was pulled into her little game. He wouldn’t call Dr. Hale a manipulator, exactly; just intuitive and determined.

“Ah.” Dr. Hale copied Gabriel’s body language, leaning back to steeple his fingers over his chest. “Corporation games, my friend. Even in times of war, money will choose the victor.”

Gabriel snorted. “That’s what the SEP is, huh? Another private military contractor?”

“You’re exactly right.” Dr. Hale pulled his glasses from his nose and thumbed the lens. “It’s like I said, Mr. Reyes. Can I call you Gabriel?”

“You may.”

“It’s like I said, Gabriel. Desperate times. Such a controversial program had to be kept from the public eye. Safer to keep it away from the military, too. Did you know we started with more lawyers than scientists?”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Gabriel said.

“When we set up here, I didn’t think we’d ever actually _start_ ,” Dr. Hale said. “We were delayed and sidetracked by paperwork and funding and I stuck on because I know—as you must—that something _had_ to be done.” He slid his glasses back onto his nose. The lenses were smudged. “I’ve seen a lot of things over the years. Horrible things. But nothing like this Crisis. We’re not fighting people anymore, so the rules are different. But here—”

“You’re _risking_ people,” Gabriel supplied.

Dr. Hale nodded. “Once everything got settled, I was hopeful. I could see progress in every subject here. Six hundred super soldiers who’d go back into the fields sharper, stronger. Small numbers don’t often make a difference, but imagine, for a moment, how effective such teams could be.”

It was the stuff of science fiction. Gabriel sometimes went to sleep bitter about being treated like a science experiment, but in the end, risking a little often paid off.

Except, in Park Hills, it hadn’t.

“When the new facility was finished I wanted to move,” Dr. Hale said, “And now here I am, back where I started, wishing I had noticed that things were wrong earlier.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I had an inkling,” Dr. Hale said. “I was privy to the details of the serums here, but they stopped sending reports through a few months back. When they started dying off, I suspect.”

He heaved a great sigh, his slight smile fading. “Deschamps is a brilliant woman, Gabriel. As I’m sure you’ve noticed. When she took over recruitment I didn’t think twice about it, just did as she asked and checked over medical files for possible subjects. When she told us to hold off on giving half of our subjects injections, however—”

“That’s when you started questioning.”

“No one was hurt, so I said nothing.” Dr. Hale rolled a hand into a fist and thumped it against the desk, but the gesture was weak, serving to punctuate the point and nothing else. “I was blind to it, and I’m ashamed. I could have done something, but it’s too late for regrets. I figured you would see it, and I was right.”

“Did you—” Gabriel swallowed hard. A lump had formed in his throat, painful and tight. “—You’re still afraid to lose your job, aren’t you? So you got Jack and I to look into it.”

“I’m not a perfect man,” Dr. Hale sighed. “But look at where it’s gotten you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Coordinator Castillo is going to put your name forward, when the time comes. I’m certain of it.” Dr. Hale leaned over the desk, arms crossed, long, wrinkled fingers tapping a quick rhythm against the desk. “Deschamps is busy sinking her teeth into anyone she thinks she can persuade, but she’s on her way out, I assure you. Our bosses won’t be happy she’s stood to profit while our program will be terminated.” He cleared his throat and smiled wryly, the expression so much like his father’s proud smile that Gabriel’s chest ached. “You’ll be an excellent military commander, Gabriel. I am absolutely sure of it. If any one person can turn the tide of this war, I believe it is you.”

“That’s high praise, doc.” Gabriel laughed, the sound awkward and forced, because how the hell was he supposed to believe that? They were fighting a losing war, and in four years no one had been able to get _close_ to permanently shutting down a major Omnium. Millions dead, millions more displaced, and it got worse _every. Goddamn. Day._

Gabriel couldn’t remember getting to his feet, and he blinked hard at the orange glow of the lanterns in the hall.

He sniffed, but he couldn’t smell saltwater, probably wasn’t hallucinating. “Thanks for talking with me, doc,” he said, “Means a lot.”

“Anytime, Gabriel.”

Instead of heading back toward the gymnasium Gabriel climbed a flight of stairs and wandered to the top floor of the building, his steps slow, his mind grinding through the facts.

He laid them out on the chess board. Deschamps’ Queen piece was vulnerable, but she could still strike or slip away, could take someone with her.

Could be him, could be Jack.

It was a different battlefield than the one he was used to.

He leaned on the railing in the atrium, eyes drawn to the swirl of snow behind glass. It was beautiful in a way, even if it looked cold as hell outside. The atrium was still and quiet and Gabriel lingered, listening to the muted howl of the wind until the flurries thinned and he could see out over the mountains, past the limit of the trees. The sky was a soft gray, the hour impossible to tell.

Gabriel let out a slow breath and let a moment of peace wrap around him, only to be interrupted by footsteps.

In the soft half-darkness he didn’t see Jack coming, but knew it was him when a shoulder bumped against his, warm and firm. “Just wanted a drink of water, huh? What’s on your mind?”

Jack folded his arms on the railing and hummed under his breath, just for a moment, so perfectly content and at ease that Gabriel felt a pang of guilt for stepping out on him earlier.

“Had a chat with Dr. Hale,” Gabriel muttered. No point in holding the truth back, but he didn’t want to talk about conspiracies anymore. The storm had stilled outside and he wanted the same to happen inside his head. “Thinking too much.”

Too much about Deschamps, about Perrault, about Jack. Goddamn.

Jack pressed against his shoulder, one hand sliding over Gabriel’s. He swept the calloused pads of his fingers over Gabriel’s knuckles and he shivered at the light contact, his breath catching. He wouldn’t have pegged Jack as affectionate a few months back, but maybe he’d just been shy, or maybe it was his obvious inexperience. The contact was steadying, but Gabriel kept his eyes on the window even as he leaned against Jack, eager for the pressure of his body.

“You’re always asking me to talk more,” Jack said, “Are _you_ okay, Gabriel?”

“Fine,” Gabriel sighed. “Better, now.”

A little quiet would be nice, and somehow Jack sensed it, said nothing. Gabriel took Jack’s hand in his and squeezed tight before letting go, ready to stand back and start the long walk to Castillo’s office. Jack’s hand slid down to the small of his back, rendering him still once more. He tucked in against Gabriel’s side, pressing his nose into his hair, placing a warm kiss against his temple.

The scene outside the window had calmed, and it was almost picturesque. “Thank you,” Gabriel said.

“What for?” Jack’s mouth pressed against his forehead, then into his hair, his breath warm. Gabriel tipped his head into the touch, letting his eyes close, just for a moment.

Gabriel eyed the atrium cameras. Probably offline, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t come around the corner and spot them.

He found it impossible to care and cared _too much_ in the same moment. The truth twisted up inside him, cruel and painful. He didn’t know how much time he had with Jack, or where they’d be going once the program was completed. Could be years before they saw each other again, and distance could change things, and even though it was far too soon for him to worry about it, Gabriel felt a pang of sickness rise like bile in his throat.

He didn’t have an answer to give Jack and kept silent, but he could see concern in his eyes, felt guilty for it.

Jack stroked his back. “I wanted to ask you, before,” he said, “Um—last night—”

He stalled. Gabriel shouldered into his touch and heaved a sigh as he waited for Jack to pick up his question. Lips brushed against his forehead again. When Jack spoke, he felt the vibrations of his voice.

“You said that—how, uh—how long have you wanted to kiss me?”

There was a light, teasing tone to his voice, and Gabriel felt some of his worries drip away. He elbowed Jack in the ribs playfully, a grin spreading across his face, so wide it hurt. “Oh come on, Blondie.”

“That long, huh?”

Truth was, it felt like _ages_ , but Gabriel couldn’t get himself to say anything more eloquent than, “A while.”

Jack laughed, his breath tickling Gabriel’s ear. The sound was warm and yellow, and he pushed against Jack’s side, admitting defeat. “When you got sick,” he said, “You scared the shit out of me. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

It was a pretty pathetic confession, but Jack’s grin widened, bright as the snow outside. “Hm,” he said, “Figured I had you beat.”

“What?”

Jack’s eyes flickered away. His grin faded into a slight, soft smile that made Gabriel’s breath catch and his heart ache.

Something black moved against the white canvas, just over the ridge of bare, dead trees.

“Helicopter?” Gabriel supplied. The window was three floors tall and wide enough to give a grand view of the mountainside—it was beautiful, really, or might have been when the forest was green and alive—and when the spot of black reappeared, he could guess at its distance. Could have been brass on their way in, braving the storm, could be civilian.

Jack’s hand slid off his back. “Bad weather for flying,” he said.

“No shit.” Gabriel pulled his arms off the railing and straightened. It was about time for them to meet with Castillo, anyway, and he didn’t care much about the helicopter. He took a few steps but Jack didn’t follow. He loved to talk about aviation and aircraft—he used the topic to fill the silence more often than anything else, except maybe training missions—but the look on his face was leagues away from boyish wonder. “Castillo’s expecting us,” he said. Jack remained still by the window, frowning at the speck of black. “Jack?”

“Hang on,” he growled. Jack angled his head, though Gabriel couldn’t guess how it was any help. He mouthed something, then said, “It’s, uh, a dropship. Looks beat-up. And—”

Gabriel squinted at the spot of black. How Jack knew that was a goddamn mystery. “And what, Jack? Come on.”

“It’s in bad shape,” Jack muttered.

Gabriel sucked in a sharp breath. The spot of black left a thick, barely visible trail of smoke. “Shit,” he said, “I don’t think that pilot’s having a good day.”

He tugged on Jack’s sleeve. He remained still and rigid, his eyes cold, hard mirrors.

“That’s—” Jack stalled, mouth hanging open. He gave a harsh shake of his head and sucked in a sharp, rattling breath. “That’s an Omnic dropship, Gabriel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> anna-droid.tumblr.com


	27. Chapter 27

Gabriel’s heart pounded so hard he was afraid it would shatter his ribs from the inside. He and Jack sprinted down the dirty hall, slipping around corners, and hit the door of the coordinator’s office chasing their breath. Five people jumped when the door hit the wall. A porcelain cup fell from Deschamps’ hands and shattered against the tile floor, the sound loud and stinging against Gabriel’s ragged, terrified mind.

“You’re late,” Deschamps snarled.

“Coordinator— ” Gabriel paused to suck in deep breaths. He didn’t have any goddamn time— the smoking wreck could land near the town, or could have already crashed into the mountainside— and just who the hell had made the goddamn facility so goddamn massive? He collided with a chair and collapsed over it, too tired to give a single shit about making it to the desk where Castillo sat. “— We— ”

“There’s a dropship,” Jack wheezed. “Omnic. I saw it out over the mountain, a few clicks North— ”

“What are you talking about?” Deschamps hissed. Castillo jerked his hand in some kind of gesture at her, and she only rolled her eyes.

Jack’s face scrunched up in a quick show of annoyance, and canines gleamed when he snapped, “An Omnic dropship is moving over the goddamn town!”

Gabriel waited for any of the figureheads to speak. Castillo’s expression was the first to shift from annoyance to horror. “Can’t be,” he said, “There aren’t any Omniums in this state, and the airspace has been secured for two years— ”

“I know what I saw,” Jack said, “It’s damaged, and it could drop right over our heads, or— ”

“Could they know we’re here?” Deschamps cut in. Her voice was thin and reedy, and for the first time her countenance cracked completely, revealing a scared, thirty-something woman. “We aren’t prepared for this, Milo.”

Fuck. The power outage was certainly well-timed. Gabriel rocked back on his feet, and cleared his throat when the silence dragged on too long. Inaction, typical. “You need to call it in, Coordinator.”

“...Call it in?”

“To the army,” Gabriel hissed, “Air force, marines, whatever branch signs your paychecks. There are innocent people in that town and— ”

“And that class of quad-rotor dropship can carry thirty Bastion units and five Predators,” Jack said.

Shit. Not a huge force, but he didn’t know what kind of defense the town had, if any, or how close the nearest military base was. “We need to evacuate,” he said, “Get those people out safely, so someone can get in and take care of this.”

Castillo’s gaze snapped back to Deschamps. Shit, she was on her way out, and the guy still didn’t have a goddamn backbone.

The suits in their chairs by the wall mumbled to each other, thoroughly useless.

“What are you waiting for?” Gabriel snapped, “This is a bit time-sensitive, Coordinator!”

“Where could they have come from?” Deschamps asked, “We’re three state borders away from— ”

“Who gives a flying fuck where they came from? They’re here!” Gabriel fought to keep his voice from escalating into a yell. Shit, they’d already lost time, and God only knew where the dropship had landed, or if it was still airborne, and they needed to get the military there as fast as fucking possible.

Deschamps flinched. Slowly she unfolded her legs and straightened, running one hand through her hair. Trying to look composed. What a fucking joke.

“Make the call, Milo.”

“To— ”

Gabriel ground his teeth. God, clearly they didn’t have a fucking clue. Private military contractors, fuck. They could kiss his ass.

“We need to do something,” he said, “ _Right now_. Before any Omnics can get to the town.” Or to the facility. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous.

Deschamps’ eye slid from him to Castillo, fierce and cold. Gabriel leveled a glare back and she shrank away, fear sparking in her eyes. “Listen,” he said, “You’ve got a facility full of invaluable super soldiers to defend. Even if they’re not here for us—even if they don’t _know_ we’re here—we need to step in. We don’t have time to sit here and worry about what to do. We need to act.”

Fools rush in, but he wasn’t a fool, and a plan was already circling in his head, quick and sure. It’d take an hour to get a unit outfitted and out the doors. Didn’t know what kind of trucks the facility had, if any. No aircraft. Had to have a munitions supply somewhere in the belly of the building. A scouting party could track the dropship’s path, rendezvous with more forces, and quell the threat. Maybe before military forces could arrive.

He was already moving toward the door. Jack’s hand flew out and snapped tight around his wrist. “Where are you going?”

Gabriel’s throat slammed shut. Shit. Adrenaline spiked under his skin, hot and burning. He had to do something. He had to get a rifle into his hands and march out, storm or not, and _act_.

Standing around and talking about it wasn’t going to get a damn thing done. Gabriel ground his teeth. Jack’s grip on his arm loosened, but the contact was heavy, overwhelming. He pulled his arm away. Something quirked in Jack’s eyes but he remained quiet.

“Small unit,” he said, looking hard at Castillo, past Deschamps’ narrowed glare. “Thirty. Give Olsen lead. She’s run missions like this before.” Gabriel swallowed hard. His tongue was swollen and slow, making the words harder. Deschamps cocked an eyebrow. A slow, cruel grin grew on her face, and his stomach churned.

“Mr. Reyes is right. We’ll send out a unit,” Deschamps said.

Castillo’s head jerked toward her. “Since when do you make those calls?”

“None of us do, technically.” She unfolded her legs and stood, slow, serene, graceful. Back to playing her little game, trying to slip out of the net. Gabriel clamped down on the instinct to curse. “It’s the perfect way to prove that our program is useful,” Deschamps said. She turned on her heel to face Castillo and the suits, like he and Jack were nothing more than spectators. Certainly nothing close to equals. “If a unit of thirty could do it, we’ll send fifteen.”

“This isn’t a game, Olivia,” Castillo hissed, “If those Omnics are looking for us, and we don’t find them first—”

“We’re on the brink of collapse. It’s a way to survive,” Deschamps shot back.

“No thanks to you.”

Gabriel ran a hand over his chin. Shit. Watching the two of them, smiling at each other like vipers, was something else. He nudged Jack in the ribs. Jack coughed to clear his throat and said, “We’re running out of time. The dropship’s probably crashed by now.”

“Easier to track,” Gabriel sighed. A thick plume of black smoke would be easy to pick out against the white sky. So long as they found it before nightfall. “Say the word, Coordinator. Then put that call through.”

He didn’t get to make those kinds of calls but Castillo nodded anyway. His throat bobbed before he spoke. “You’re right. Fifteen. What have you got for supplies here, Eugene?”

“We’re sitting on an arsenal,” one of the suits replied.

“Okay. We’ll get you geared up. But who are we supposed to send—”

“We’ll go,” Jack said.

Shit. Not a second’s hesitation, but his voice was weak, quivering.

Jack’s eyes snapped over him, just for a second, before he turned back to Deschamps. “You have a top five for a reason.”

Castillo let out a choked gasp. “We can’t send our best, what if—”

“We have to.” Deschamps’ heels clicked across the floor. She stopped in front of Gabriel, arms crossed, a smirk turned up on her mouth. “This what we were contracted for, Milo. Breeding super soldiers.” She reached out, her hand cold against his bicep. He jerked away, and didn’t bother to hide his teeth. How _dare_ she touch him like he was a thing.

Her gaze held his. A challenge. Gabriel ground his teeth. A mix of panic and adrenaline welled up in his stomach. Fight. He wanted to _fight_.

“Morrison will take command,” Deschamps said, “Call for Khan and—”

“What?”

Gabriel bit down on his tongue a second too late. Jack’s eyes swung around, his gaze piercing. Gabriel kept his focus trained ahead at the terrible smirk on Deschamps’ face. _Fuck_ , Jack couldn’t take command, he had no leadership experience, hadn’t been trained for it, and they were all rusty as hell—

Deschamps’ eyes glittered. Like she saw straight through him. “It’s like you said once, Mr. Reyes,” she said, “He has no real-world leadership experience.”

Jack’s gaze burned against the side of his face. Fuck, he’d said it, and he’d _meant_ it, but that had been months ago, and he had enough reason to be angry—and she dared to throw it in his face when this was serious, and—

He still didn’t trust command in Jack’s hands.

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. They had bigger things to worry about.

“Feel like earning your place here, Mr. Morrison?” Deschamps’ voice was cold, acidic, distant. Dangerous.

“You should—Gabriel’s right, it should be Olsen,” he mumbled.

“It’s decided,” she said. No real authority, but no one bothered to test her. Castillo rested back in his seat, mouth twisted up into a pout. Still no backbone. “We’re leaving. Right now. Follow me.”

-

It had to be below zero, but Gabriel couldn’t focus on the cold as their unit—fifteen of the best from both facilities—climbed over a drift of snow, heavily laden in gear. Snow stuck against his goggles and burned against strips of exposed skin. They’d tried to dig the diesel trucks out, but there was too much snow on the road. Jack had suggested chains for the tires, but they didn’t have enough time to give it a shot. Could have used the snowmobiles back at their facility.

On foot, then.

The snow was at least 10cm deep and every step was a labor. Thin wisps of black smoke rose up to the east, just past a ridge of mountains half obscured by snow.

Ahead, Jack called for them to stop and dropped down on one knee. He squinted into a pair of binoculars. “Town looks clear,” he said, “Good news.”

Olsen stomped her feet in the snow, probably in an effort to fight off the chill. “Think we’ll get lucky and find nothing but scrap at the crash site?”

There was a laugh in her voice, but Gabriel wasn’t exactly reassured. The Midwest was the only secured zone in the whole country. East coast was a mess. The strip between Texas and Colorado was a bloodbath. West coast fared better, but not by much. And they were handling the crisis better than a lot of countries.

No time to think about _why_ the Omnics were in their airspace.

Jack led them ahead, tall and stiff and commanding. Playing the part. Gabriel forced his doubts down. Jack knew how to use a rifle better than anyone else in their program, and whatever leadership experience he lacked, he made up for with an elite team. They all knew the plays, and were intimate with the stakes.

If Jack was right about the number of Omnics on board, they were in for a good fight, enhanced or not.

Gabriel kept his grip on the rifle loose. No sign of immediate danger, no sign of other dropships among the clouds. Not that he could see much overhead; the valley where the town laid was clear, but they were walking further into the storm, up into the hills, following the smoke.

He breathed in cool air that stuck in his throat. “What do you think downed it?”

Olsen shrugged, her shoulder brushing against his. “Probably a malfunction, or it was trying to escape a dogfight,” she said, “Could have come from out East. Fighting’s been getting worse in Virginia.”

“Not _that_ bad,” Gabriel grumbled.

“You’re right.” Olsen tugged at her balaclava, pulling it down enough for her to let out a puff that hung on the air. “Hey.” She elbowed him in the ribs and slowed, letting the others advance a few paces before she spoke again. “Not to be that person, and I’m not complaining, but—”

“I know.”

“Deschamps put a target on his back months ago,” she sighed, “Thought it was because she wanted to fuck him.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong.”

Olsen let out a snort. “So, what? He wasn’t into it and she’s out for his blood, now?”

Gabriel shrugged. He didn’t really want to think about the way she used to look at him, or about how pleased she was when Jack tried to pass off command. Just what the hell was her problem, anyway? He let out a sharp breath. Wouldn’t hurt any to ask. Or maybe it would; Jack had refused to talk about it before. None of it mattered at the moment. The town was safe, alleviating most of his concerns, but they could find themselves in a firefight at any given moment, and he had to stay on his toes.

The simulations weren’t anything close to the real thing, and the last time he’d been in a firefight seemed like it had happened in a different life.

He could barely remember MacKinnon’s face, or Banks’ deep, shaking laugh. All he could remember was a blur of gray tarmac and a smudge of green pines, the smell of smoke and gasoline, and—always, like thunder in the distance—the rattle of Omnic gunfire.

And home—that seemed like a different life, like the snow-covered fields he walked weren’t on the same Earth. His family was so far behind him, but their voices rang in his head, warm and encouraging. Gabriel pulled his hood low over his eyes. The cool wind was starting to pick up. Ahead, Jack was half-obscured by the flurries of snow, no more than a speck of gray against white.

Olsen tugged her balaclava back up over her face. “It’s fucking freezing,” she mumbled, “Hope Luke’s okay up in Manitoba.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Gabriel said. He pulled a hand off the strap of his rifle to pat her shoulder. “I’ve heard it’s a fortress up there in the refugee camps.”

“Yeah. I know.” Olsen slowed to a stop, shifting on her feet. “Still, it’s a camp—”

“I stayed in one for a few weeks,” Gabriel said, “After Los Angeles was bombed.”

“Shit.” Olsen cranked her neck toward him, but he couldn’t see her eyes behind the glare of her goggles. “You’ve never mentioned that before, kid.”

No. He hadn’t. Truthfully, he tried not to think about it; he’d just started healing from his top surgery when the bombs fell, and it hadn’t exactly been comfortable dealing with that in the camp. Luckily for Los Angeles, the military cleared out the pockets of Omnics and they were relieved to find their house—and most of the city— was still in one piece.

“And you never mentioned having a son,” Gabriel deflected. Olsen let out a little laugh before swaying on her feet and following after Jack and the others, gesturing to him with a glove.

“Yeah, you’re right. Guess we’re too similar, huh?”

“Depends on what you mean,” Gabriel said.

“I mean that we both talk a lot for people who don’t say a damn thing,” she said, “I know what my problem is. Can’t figure yours.”

Gabriel huffed. He tightened his grip on the stock of his rifle and swept his eyes down the side of the mountain. They’d be clear of the road soon, and would have to march through the forest. “I don’t have a problem.”

“You know, it’s okay to want to protect yourself,” Olsen said, “It’s okay to keep some things quiet. Helps me out a lot. You know? If everyone here knew about Luke and Carlos, they’d be asking about it. Wondering if I was okay. Would only make it harder. I’d be thinking about it all the time.”

Gabriel kept quiet, and eventually Olsen seemed to sense that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him. She walked ahead. Gabriel kicked at the snow. A part of him still thought that it was beautiful, but the smoke in the distance—harder to see now—kept him grounded in cold, stark reality.

They were at war.

-

They’d been late leaving the facility, and the sky turned dark in what felt like moments. The mountainside was a graveyard of bare, gray trees that cast long shadows over the snow. All he could hear was the whistle of the wind, the crunch of snow, and the rustle of their thick parkas. Two hours ago it had fallen silent, each of them deathly alert and watchful.

It reminded him a little of the trips he used to take with his family outside of the city. Ariana and Paloma loved to hike. Frankie never had much patience for it and used to get tired, so he always ended up carrying her on his back. Sometimes she’d sleep. More often, she’d steal his phone to play games.

The weight of a tent and medical supplies on his back was nothing like it.

Gabriel’s fingers flexed around his rifle. Couldn’t get caught in his head, not even for a second, so he checked over his shoulder. Tough to see much. The storm had worsened to a howling mess, but they were somewhat sheltered within the grasp of the trees. He had to trust that Jack was leading them in the right direction—he couldn’t catch a trace of the dropship’s smoke anymore—had to trust that everything was fine in his hands. In his head.

They had a beacon set to take them back to the facility, if worse came to worse, but Gabriel could only guess at far behind it was.

Ahead, Jack raised a fist and they slowed to a stop, stomping their feet to ward off the chill. Five minutes passed before Jack angled his head down into the valley and gave a second signal to continue.

“You hear anything?” Olsen whispered.

“We’re getting close,” Khan said. He walked with his rifle slung over his shoulders, which was a little reassuring, somehow. If he didn’t expect danger, Gabriel could almost relax. He tugged off his goggles. The air was far too cold, and snow stung in his eyes, but it was easier to see in the dark without the tinted sheen.

He could smell smoke. Not diesel fuel, or whatever Omnics used to fuel their ships these days, but wood.

“There’s a cabin somewhere near here,” Khan said, “Nice spot to call it a night. I’ll see if our commander can be persuaded.”

Khan strode ahead. Gabriel kept close to Olsen’s shoulder, slowly running his thumb over the safety on his rifle. No lights in the trees. No distant hum or groan of machinery.

Nothing like the forests in Oregon, but it wasn’t safe to relax.

Olsen stopped by a tree that was split jagged down the middle, like it’d been hit by lightning. “Feel like we’re chasing ghosts,” she said, “Should have found something by now. Omnics aren’t known for subtlety.”

She spread a gloved hand against the scarred trunk as she circled it, rifle lowered in the other hand. Carefree, at ease, something he would have corrected if command was on his shoulders. Jack, a few dozen meters down the ridge, didn’t even glance back at them; he was too busy talking to Khan, their breaths spilling out from behind their masks and catching on the air, like little clouds.

Olsen let out a sharp, piercing whistle. “This is kinda fun,” she said, “Haven’t gone out to kick Omnic ass in months. Can’t wait to sink my teeth in.”

“Fun,” Gabriel repeated.

“Trying to make the best of it,” Olsen said, “You might try it out, too.”

Yeah. Likely. Gabriel rolled his shoulders. Still a little sore from sleeping on a shitty mat on the floor. Hadn’t gotten enough sleep, either, though that barely seemed to bother him anymore.

A little smile tugged at his lips. Jack’s broad shoulders moved as he shifted the weight of his rifle from one hand to the other. He was dressed identically to the rest of them, but Gabriel was far too familiar with that lean, the twist of his head, the way one knee rocked out, like he was trying hard to stand still. Gabriel could just hear him over the noise of the storm and the chatter of the rest of the group. Voice low, slow, careful, with just the slightest trace of the Midwest accent he tried to hide.

Olsen bounded down the ridge, a flash of white against white. Jack turned, and for a second, Gabriel thought he was looking at him. Tough to tell behind the mask. He smiled back on instinct, even though his face was covered, hoped it showed in his eyes.

Jack knew what he was doing. He could handle command. Gabriel breathed out a plume of air. He had to give up control, trust in someone else. Some things came easy to him. That wasn’t one of them.

“We’re gonna stop soon,” Jack called out, hands cupped over his mouth, “Reyes, comb the perimeter.”

Gabriel gave the valley below a quick once-over— no trace of the cottage Khan was sure existed, but no trace of a wrecked dropship, either— and turned on his heel to march back up into the trees, throwing a salute and an affirmative back at Jack. Rifle cradled in his hands, Gabriel squinted into the gloom, focusing hard on the spaces between the trees one by one, waiting for a flash of metal or the prick of an optic.

He wrestled his mask down and let it hang loose around his neck. The fur on the parka collar tickled his cheek, his forehead. Snow swirled and stuck in his eyelashes. He blinked it away. Craning his neck, a joint popped. The sound was muffled by his hood and the thick forest.

From a gap in the trees he could see the rest of his unit, massed together out in the open. Omnics could see better in bad weather than they could, and Ruscito was the only one with a thermal visor. Still— Khan was at ease, shoulders moving with a laugh, Jack fidgeting at his side. Never was one to stand still long.

Gabriel dragged his feet over the ridge through the snow, keeping the group below on his right, within earshot, in case a flurry of snow blinded him.

And there, just ahead, a dim, orange glow.

Gabriel stopped. Looked like electric lights, but it was tough to tell. He gave the air a sniff. Stunk like tree sap and tinny snow. No sign of smoke.

Gabriel shifted his boots. Wasn’t really that cold— as Jack had kept repeating, earlier— but the chill kept creeping through his uniform the longer he stayed still. Maybe he’d luck out and get to curl up in someone’s arms for the night; that was, depending on watch rotations and—

They had to keep it quiet. Not that he wanted to. But Jack was command, for the moment, and Gabriel didn’t want to risk anything moving forward.

Fuck.

Gabriel let out a hiss between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, just for a moment. Reality punched him in the gut a short second later. Had to stay alert. Had to stay focused. Secure the perimeter, like Jack had asked.

The orange light wavered in the gap between dead, still trees. Gabriel raised the sights of his rifle and squinted through the scope. Snow stuck against the lens, blurring what he could see. With a hiss, he rubbed at it with his glove.

Better. Clear. Gabriel lifted the scope back to his eye. The metal was freezing and damp against his exposed skin.

The gap between the trees was dark.

Orange light flickered between the trees. Still and silent.

Gabriel fumbled for his radio, but the sound would give away his position. He thumbed the silent alarm switch and cursed under his breath. He pulled himself back, away from the gap in the trees, rifle cradled in shaking hands, clicking off the safety.

Down below, he heard a flurry of voices, and then nothing but the howl of the wind and the shaking of the branches over his head. Gabriel kept his eyes open, breath held, his gloved finger on the cold metal trigger.

Nothing but the quiet. Gabriel hissed out a plume of cold air and craned his head around the trunk of a tree, squinting into the flurry. There—dim, distant—a warm orange glow against snow, and then it was gone.

Gabriel hit the silent alarm switch a second time before pulling down his goggles and raising the rifle to his shoulder.

The wind caught in his hood and howled through his hair, bitingly cold against his scalp, as he advanced. One foot after the other, soft and slow. He wasn't too far from the rest of the group, and the radio's beacon would leave no question to his position— but the woods were dark, and the rocks and roots hidden under snow left him no choice but to keep his pace slow.

Gabriel's nerves snapped at the sound of a distant, tinny whine.

Omnic.

Wrong, though— twisted and filtered. Injured, or some new kind of unit.

Didn't matter much.

Gabriel stepped out from the cover of trees and kept his pace firm, insistent. His gut churned. He should be turning back, making for better cover, but he knew how these damn machines worked. The moment he turned his sights away there would be thirty bullets lodged in his back, or a Predator chasing him down on foot.

He didn't see it right away. Too dark, and everything was so still and gray that the slip of metal blended into the trunk of the tree. A single, violent orange eye was the only indication that the unit was operational at all; the machine gun arm on the unit remained still on the ground, half-buried by fresh snow.

Except he'd seen light moving through the trees—

Gabriel forced himself to breathe. Think. The radio was strapped on his right side; he also happened to be right-handed, and had his right hand on the trigger.

He hadn't come this close to a Bastion unit in months, and his mind fired blanks.

Field ops. Alone. A full clip in his rifle, more than enough to take out a Bastion at short range. He dared to let his eyes flick to check his peripheries. Fuck, if there were any more of them in the trees— even just one other machine— he'd have to stop to reload, and he didn't know if he could eject and change the clip that fast without covering fire.

The rifle shook in his hands, but he couldn't think straight to blame the cold or his nerves. Slowly— painfully— he pulled his hand away from the trigger, thumb rubbing over the safety to ensure it was turned off, and reached for the radio switch—

Distant, unmistakable, Jack's voice— "Reyes?"

Panic welled up in his chest and stalled his breaths.

Orange flared between the trees to his right. Gabriel swung around, tossing the rifle up to catch it in his left hand, reaching for the radio with the other. He pressed the trigger, oblivious to the blare of rifle fire as he screamed out, "Fall back! Ambush!"

A tinny response rang through the radio. "Reyes!—"

He couldn't hear the rest over the blare of gunfire.

Impossible to keep the rifle firing straight, but he didn't have a bead on the goddamn robot anyway, and settled for making a mess of the trees.

Orange flashed in the shadows. Returned gunfire stung against his ears. Gabriel tossed the radio aside and threw himself behind cover, away from the half-dead Omnic's sights. Bullets hit the tree over his head. Scraps of bark landed on his shoulders, his hood, on the snow around him.

Gabriel fell onto his elbows and dragged himself forward. He could make out a panicked scream, somewhere in the distance—it sounded like his name—and fuck, if that was Jack, he was going to have some choice words with him later.

He ejected his spent clip and felt on his belt for another, slid it into place, lifted the rifle.

The cold sliced over his shoulder. Gabriel coughed out a lungful of air. Fuck, his shoulder hurt—the fall, maybe?—no time to focus.

Two sets of orange optics moved, blinked through the trees.

Branches snapped under advancing feet. Gabriel ground his teeth and spat out, "Morrison, you stubborn asshole," under his breath, before pulling himself up to get a bead on the machine through the gap in the trees.

He set his weight, and a sudden movement caught his eye.

Red. Bright against the snow. Something cold and sharp moved over his shoulder as he adjusted the sights of his rifle. A quick, cursory glance told him what he felt deep in his gut—he’d been hit. Small, white-hot spots moved up along his left side. Sticky. Damp. Fuck.

“Reyes!” Jack’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife and echoed through the radio he’d dropped ten meters to his right, staticky and strained. “Reyes, what’s your position?”

Fuck’s sake. Gabriel caught the reflection of an Omnic’s head as it appeared through the trees, twisted in the direction of Jack’s voice. Light flared. Gabriel squeezed the trigger in retaliation. Snow kicked up shy of the Omnic’s legs and it turned, slowly, an orange glow setting over the snow-covered ground.

He caught a dark gray shape, distant, through the gap in the trees.

Jack.

“Morrison, what are you doing!” Gabriel yelled, “Get to cover!”

His position was more than fucked. The Omnic set its sights and Gabriel moved, rolling to the side to miss a hail of bullets by _far_ too close a measure.

He hissed out a plume of air that clung to his goggles. Adjusting his rifle, he sprayed a fire of bullets into the trees. The orange glow died down with a low, tinny hiss. He wasn’t fooled, though; he hadn’t heard the ricochet of his shots.

The darkness swam in front of his eyes. Gabriel fumbled to push the goggles back up into hair. Snow stuck to his eyelashes. Where the hell was Jack? And if he’d brought more with him, after his _very clear_ warning—

A scream rang out. Wasn’t Jack’s voice—Brooks?

Close—far too close—

Orange lights sprang against the fabric of the dark. The rattle of gunfire hit his panicked mind a moment later.

Bullets pinged against metal. A high-pitched screech pierced the air.

Gabriel pulled himself to his feet and ran.

Needed some distance, just another ten meters—

At the mark he swung around, set his sights toward the sound, and pressed the trigger. The kickback screamed through his body, but he bit down on a cry, refused to so much as glance at the blood coating his parka.

Fucking _machines_.

Through an orange glow Jack advanced. Gabriel lowered his rifle, swore under his breath. Jack was walking right into his sights, shoulders straight, every step slow and sure, the rifle solid in his hands.

The woods were dark one moment, then overexposed in flashes. Jack was a stuttering image, black one second and burning up the next. His hood had fallen. Snow glistened in his hair. Bullets rattled against the Omnic’s head; when it blew a moment later, the woods were dark and cold for a long, still moment.

Gabriel held his breath. Distant, he could hear the crunch of branches, a hiss of pain. Someone had been grazed, or worse.

Slowly he lowered his rifle. Gabriel squinted into the storm, listened for the sound of Jack’s footsteps. Nothing.

The wind curled through his hair. He suppressed a shiver, started to move, checked the clip. Empty. He slid a fresh one into place—thumbed the safety—and raised it back to his shoulder as he advanced, probing the dark for something solid, something that wasn’t a goddamn tree.

“Reyes?” Jack’s voice echoed twice; the radio was somewhere ahead, half-quieted by the wind.

Dim, to his left, a slight orange glow. Gabriel turned without thought, caught the Omnic in his sights, and filled its chassis with pulse munitions. With a high-pitched whine the machine collapsed in the snow, its optic blinking out. Nothing but shrapnel now.

“Gabe!”

Footsteps. Gabriel lowered his rifle. Shuddered when someone’s else rifle popped nearby. Probably putting the injured Bastion out of commission for good.

His breath hung on the night, along with his weary response. “Over here, Jack.”

Gabriel thumbed the safety on and threw his rifle over his shoulder. Fatigue caught up with him, fast, along with the burn along his left side—the cold only made it sting—and the idea of a chance to rest, to lay down in the snow, was overwhelmingly heavy on his shoulders.

Jack appeared between the trees. His face was open—he’d pushed his goggles up into his hair, and pulled the cowl down around his neck—and Gabriel’s stomach sank. There were deep lines in his brow, under his eyes, in the set of his frown.

“Shouldn’t have sent me alone,” Gabriel muttered, “Shouldn’t have—”

Jack’s boots crunched in the snow. Gabriel watched, dim and half-aware, as Jack closed the distance between them. Warm arms forced themselves around his waist. A blond head collapsed on his uninjured shoulder, heavy as lead. Jack squeezed. Pain rippled through Gabriel’s torso, but he didn’t have the heart or the energy to complain.

He was running on adrenaline. Had to be worse than it looked. Had to be—

For a moment they were still, with nothing but the cold and the howl of the wind around them. Gabriel stared into the trees, searching for the others, listening for voices.

Jack pulled back without warning, blinking hard. “We need to keep moving,” he said, “You hit?”

Right back to business. Gabriel closed his eyes, let the warmth of Jack’s embrace fade. “Yeah. Don’t think it’s too bad.”

Jack held his gaze, tough and firm, like steel traps. Slowly, those cold eyes flickered to his shoulder, and Jack’s expression shifted. Hardened. Gabriel could see his jaw grind. “Gabe—”

“Don’t say it, okay?” Gabriel lifted a hand to feel at his shoulder. Warm and hot. The hole in his parka was long and thin. Just a graze. He sucked in a breath between his teeth before forcing himself into a slow, even walk. Had to check the Bastion units, ensure they were dead. Had to look for signs of more.

Jack followed him after a moment, a gloved hand soft and almost indetectable against his sleeve. “Shouldn’t be Omnics out here,” he said, “Nothing they could have been looking for.”

“Except us.”

He hazarded a glance toward Jack. There was no trace of softness in his expression.

“Flashlight,” Gabriel muttered.

“Sure.” Jack hand vanished from his arm to search his belt. A flashlight was pressed into his hand a second later.

Gabriel let a beam of white flood the snow-covered ground. He dragged it up to the top of the trees.

“Huh.”

“Well, that explains it.”

A large swath had been cut through the trees. Gabriel angled the flashlight over bent and broken branches. Well, Jack was certainly doing a good job of tracking the dropship’s path. And now, when they managed to find it, they’d have three fewer Bastions to destroy.

That was the end of his brighter thoughts. “I told you to fall back,” Gabriel growled, “Warned you. Could have…”

So it wasn’t an ambush, that much was clear—what a happy accident—but Jack had charged in nonetheless, hadn’t been subtle about it at all. He would have been an easy target. _Should_ have been. Mistake on the Omnic’s part.

Gabriel bit down on his tongue.

“Khan thinks there’s a cabin nearby.” Jack kept his voice low, like he was worried about being overhead. Gabriel distantly remembered screams, couldn’t figure why Jack wasn’t concerned. “We’ll find it, stop there for the night. Are you okay to make it, Gabe?”

“Just fine, Blondie,” Gabriel grunted. “Just fine.”

A goddamn lie.

Jack shook his head slowly. His blond hair ruffled with the movement. “Let me help you. Lean on me.”

“I said I’m fine, Jack.”

“You’re not.” Jack pushed against his side. With a sigh Gabriel lifted his good arm to sling it around his shoulders. Jack was warm as hell, at least.

Ahead, Gabriel caught movement. He reached for the strap of his rifle before realizing that it was Brooks, as he’d expected, flanked by Ruscito and Carver.

They were deathly silent as he and Jack approached. Nervous fingers tapped on the stocks of their rifles.

“Brooks,” Jack said, “Make sure they’re dead. Carver, watch her back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Ruscito.” Jack moved under his arm, let out a long, deep sigh a moment later. “Secure the perimeter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack gave a nod, and they moved on. Gabriel caught a small spot of blood on Brooks’ right leg. She was barely limping.

The pain running down his side was distant, almost drowned out by the sting of the cold. Gabriel leaned hard on Jack’s side. His footing faltered. Jack bit down on a curse.

“Do you need to stop? I can take a look—”

“Don’t think it’s that bad,” Gabriel muttered. Probably wasn’t, seeing as he was still able to walk at all. More likely just the shock catching up with him. “Let’s find that cabin, yeah? Bunk down.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “You’re right.”

Once clear of the trees, he scanned over the open, snow-covered field. Up ahead, spots of white moved against the canvas. Someone raised their arm in a wave, then bounded across the snow, breaths puffing out over their cowl.

“Shit, kid.” Olsen’s voice. She wrestled her mask away to reveal a tight frown. Her head cocked toward Jack. “Found that house. Nice folks there. We’re welcome to stay the night.”

“Lead the way.”

-

The cabin was a warm, orange glow set across the open field on the edge of the trees, half-hidden behind a low hill and a mass of snow-covered vehicles. Smoke billowed up from an old-fashioned chimney and blended into the storm. Relief washed over Gabriel. He allowed his eyes to close, his head to roll onto Jack's shoulder despite the soldiers crowded around them.

The last of his adrenaline had long since evaporated, leaving him sore and exhausted, but he was fine, and repeated the mantra for Jack's benefit. "I'm fine. It's not that far."

"I shouldn't have sent you out by yourself," Jack whispered. His warm breath stuck against Gabriel's cheek like a kiss. "I thought we were safe—I didn't think we were anywhere close to the crash site—"

Jack had said it all in many different ways on the long walk across the snow-covered field, and Gabriel's head was heavy with it. He might have made the same call, considering the perimeter was a short walk of woods, and they needed to scout a large area with only fifteen soldiers in a short amount of time. What he would have done didn't matter. He wasn't Command.

"Jack." Gabriel let his head roll into the crook of Jack's neck. The fur of his hood tickled his cheek. "You made a mistake."

"Yeah. I know." Jack's mouth settled into a frown. His teeth flashed when he spoke. "I'm so sorry, Gabriel, I never wanted you to get hurt—"

"I'm hardly hurt," Gabriel grunted. Truth was it stung worse than anything else, thanks to the bite of the cold. The darkened patches of blood told him that that he'd stopped bleeding, so the wounds couldn't be that deep. Still, he leaned hard on Jack's shoulders. The contact was grounding, soothing, even if a part of him was livid.

Jack had never held command. Sure, he'd been living a military lifestyle far longer than Gabriel had, but he'd always been following orders. He never had to make his own calls, never had to weigh the responsibility.

He'd also, Gabriel reminded himself, been the only person out of six-hundred who'd managed to pull out a victory in the simulator bays.

Olsen walked ahead to knock at the cabin door. It swung open, yellow light sweeping across the snow. Two women with age-worn faces greeted them with smiles and gentle words, opening their arms to invite the fifteen of them inside. The cabin was small and cramped but warm, and Gabriel could smell something good coming from the kitchen.

A big yellow dog lifted itself off a cushion to greet them at the door, an inquisitive nose shoved against Gabriel's side. He gave the dog a soothing pat as the women pulled the lot of them through the door, ushering some into the small living room. He and Jack were pushed past a crackling fire to a staircase.

“There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall,” one of them—she’d introduced herself as Abigail—said, “The guest room is to the right of it. Do you need a first aid kit?”

“No, ma’am,” Jack said, “Thank you.”

Jack pulled him up the narrow set of stairs. Every step creaked under their heavy boots. They left a trail of half-melted snow. At the top of the stairs, Gabriel ducked under Jack’s arm and stretched before pulling the rifle off his shoulder.

The scent of pine and must hit him the moment he pushed open the door to the guest room. The bed was neatly made but kicked up dust when he sat down. Gabriel hissed when he doubled over to work off his boots. Pain bloomed along his side, burning, white-hot.

“Let me.” Jack fell to one knee in front of him. He was otherwise silent, the click of the clasps the only sound in the stiflingly quiet room.

Gabriel worked off his goggles and his cowl before starting on the zipper of his parka. Jack set his boots aside and took the parka from him.

“Take your sweater off,” Jack said. He didn’t glance at Gabriel before he left the room.

Gabriel pulled at the straps of his flex armor and let it fall to the floor. He spread his palm over his shoulder. The blood had dried, but the pressure was a dull burn. He worked a finger into the hole of his sweater, elected to listen to the command, and tugged it over his head.

Gabriel folded his sweater along with his long-sleeved undershirt and tank top, setting them aside on the bed. Every layer was soaked with blood. The cold nipped at his bare skin. Gabriel suppressed a shiver, worked hands over his arms, down his sides. He flinched when his fingers moved over the wounds.

Jack returned with a washcloth in his hands that steamed in the cooler air. The bedsprings protested when Jack sat down on his left.

“You got lucky. Just a few grazes. How much does it hurt?”

Lucky, sure. The piece of flex armor on the floor was scarred and beat-up. The lacerations along his side were small, set in a neat pattern following the gaps in the armor. Gabriel drew his eyes up to Jack’s profile. Easier to look at than the wounds. “Can barely feel it.”

“Cold helps.”

The bruises that had once circled Jack’s nose and eyes were completely gone, like they’d been airbrushed from his skin. Gabriel focused on that instead of the dried blood on his shoulder. Jack worked his bottom lip between his teeth. Slowly, he brought the washcloth to Gabriel’s arm. Gabriel let out a hiss.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Gabriel grunted.

Gabriel bit down on his tongue, kept his eyes trained on the wooden floorboards, as Jack worked away at the blood. Slowly, the creep of the cold left his body, and he was able to realize how warm it really was even without his layers of clothes.

“We shouldn’t have exposed ourselves to civilians,” he muttered.

“I know.” Jack stepped across the room and kneeled down in front of his pack. “But they don’t know. To them, we’re just a regular unit.”

“Except if they’re smart they’ll notice we’re not wearing rank.”

Jack let out a snort. “I’m sure they aren’t going to think we’re a band of mercenaries.”

“What’s Castillo gonna think of this?”

Jack landed hard on the bed with a med kit in hand. “If you have something to say about the decision, Gabriel—”

“Got a few things,” Gabriel snapped.

Jack froze by his shoulder. His eyes slowly narrowed to pinpricks, before he gave his head a shake and set about sorting through the contents of the med kit. “Think I can get away with butterfly bandages,” he said, “Might need stitches when we get back, if you don’t heal by then.”

He pulled on a pair of gloves and tore open a packet of disinfectant. Gabriel jerked his chin away and clamped down on his tongue at the sting of it. Jack brushed across the graze slowly, gently.

“There a needle and thread in there?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Gonna stitch up my sweater,” Gabriel said.

At the very least, it’d serve as a distraction. Jack pressed the items into his hand and Gabriel folded his sweater over his lap. The spot of red was bigger than he’d thought it was. “Need to wash it, later.”

“Or get a new one.”

“Won’t you miss it?”

Jack’s hand stalled on his shoulder. Gabriel glanced over, but Jack’s expression was plain. Guarded. Slowly, he crunched the spent disinfectant pad in his hand and tore open a second packet before starting on the milder lacerations running along his side. Gabriel hissed at the touch, and felt relieved when Jack finally deemed the wounds clean, and went back to sorting through the kit.

Gabriel stuck the end of the thread into his mouth before slipping it through the eye of the needle. “You’ve done this before,” he said, “A few times.”

“And you haven’t?”

“Did it more times for my sisters than I ever did in the field,” Gabriel said. He pinched the blood-soaked fabric together in his hands. He’d have to fix his parka, too, or the cold would be ruthless against the wound when they left the cabin. Hadn’t sewn in almost a year, but the art came back to him swiftly, and his nerves calmed as he worked the stitches.

“I, uh—used to patch up refugees on the border.” Jack prodded at his shoulder. “Stop for a second. Gonna put the bandages on. You need to keep your arm still.”

Gabriel set the sweater down in his lap with a sigh. He flinched at the pinch as Jack pulled the wound closed. He kept his eyes locked on the bloodied sweater until he felt the tacky press of an adhesive. Jack’s eyes were focused, sharp, serious.

“Some of the civilians were doctors or nurses,” Jack said, “We had field medics, of course, but—sometimes after a firefight we all pitched in. Too many hurt. I only helped out with the smaller injuries. You know, shrapnel, burns. Skinned knees.”

Jack’s throat bobbed. Gabriel let his focus narrow to Jack’s eyes, which were stuck on the floor, glazed over.

“Ended up helping kids, mostly. Lot of them lost their parents. Didn’t have anyone else but us. Command told us not to get attached…some things can’t be fixed.” Jack’s eyes fell closed. “Wasn't easy.”

“You have a good heart, Jack.”

Jack’s eyes flicked up from the wound, suddenly soft, sincere. Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat.

“Hold still. Let me take care of you.”

“I know you mean well, Jack, but you don’t need to—” Gabriel bit down on his tongue as Jack’s eyes hardened.

A pang of regret and fear mixed up in his stomach, burning worse than the gunshot wounds on his flank.

“What?”

“Just—nothing,” Gabriel muttered, “Forget I said anything.”

Jack was still and silent for a long moment. Gabriel held his breath. Jack’s mouth curved down at one corner into a slight frown.

“You’re still angry,” Jack whispered, “Aren’t you?”

Jack didn’t need to spell it out. Gabriel pushed the sweater off his lap onto the dust-covered quilt. Before he could straighten out his thoughts, Jack started talking, his voice low and careful.

“We talked about this. We—we _fought_ about this.” Jack jerked his head away, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight. “Deschamps shouldn’t have made me command. We both know that. Let’s stop pretending that you’re not pissed off about it, okay?”

“Jack—”

“Should have been you,” Jack grunted, “Or Olsen. Someone who actually deserves it. Right?”

“This isn’t about anyone _deserving_ it,” Gabriel snapped, “It’s about who’s qualified.”

“And that’s not me. I know that. But I never asked for it.”

“Maybe not, but you sure as hell didn’t put up much of a fight.” Gabriel kept his gaze on Jack’s face, waiting for his blue eyes to sweep away, but Jack’s brow only drew tighter.

“I did.”

“No,” Gabriel growled, “You didn’t.”

Jack’s lip pulled up to show teeth. “I didn’t want this. I don’t get what your problem is.” Jack stilled for a moment, head jerking away. He folded his hands over the med kit, fingers picking at the intact packets of disinfectant. “I didn’t want it, but I’ve worked just as hard as you have—”

“And that’s just it, Jack.”

Jack’s head jerked up. His mouth was a thin, hard line. “What?”

Gabriel spread his hands wide. “Even if we’d been on the same playing field, with the same amount of experience, do you _really_ think Deschamps would have given me a chance?” He sucked in a deep breath to steel himself. Jack had claimed to understand why he, Khan, and Olsen hadn’t been chosen for the original top five, but maybe he needed to be reminded. “I’m a Black Latino trans man. Deck’s not stacked in my favor. Not next to someone who looks like you.”

Jack blinked hard. His mouth fell open as his eyes glazed over, caught somewhere across the room. “Gabe—”

“Save it.” Gabriel shifted on the bed, away from the warmth of Jack’s body. “It’s on Deschamps.”

Gabriel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring hard at the back of the door. He forced himself to breathe out, long and slow.

“Listen, Jack,” he said, “I know you don’t like it, but people are gonna look at you and think that you’re whatever they want you to be. They’re gonna force it on you, whether you like it or not.”

Jack pulled one leg up onto the bed. The other foot tapped hard on the floor, and then his knee rocked out, hitting Gabriel’s. “And some people aren’t gonna see what we see in you.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel swallowed hard. “It’s that simple. That complicated.”

“For what it’s worth,” Jack said, “You were right. I should have told you the same day she asked me. You would have told me. I just…”

“I know.”

Jack reached for his abandoned med kit. Gabriel held still as Jack went back to applying butterfly bandages over the gash.

Gabriel felt the urge to talk, if only to fill in the quiet. “Listen, Jack. I’m not throwing your accomplishments under the bus. I don’t want you to think that, okay? I don’t know what you did in the sim, but it had to be good, and you’ve got excellent scores—I’ve seen how hard you work, and I respect that—”

Jack’s eyes flashed up to meet his: wide, open skies. Gabriel felt the echo of it like a vice around his heart.

“It just—it hurts, okay?” Gabriel’s throat threatened to swell tight. He coughed to loosen it, but his words came out strained despite the effort. “Some people will never be able to see it, no matter what I do.”

Jack was perfectly quiet for a long time. Gabriel listened to the howl of the wind, the rattle of the window, the dull murmur of chatter that reverberated under his feet.

Arms wound tight around his neck, warm and soft, and Gabriel relaxed into the sudden embrace, eyes falling closed.

Jack pulled him onto his shoulder, fingers running through his hair. Gabriel was far too tired to cry, and simply allowed himself to relax, to take himself out of the moment. Pride be damned. He could let himself be a little weak in the arms of someone he—

“Better finish patching me up,” Gabriel mumbled into Jack’s neck, “You’ve gotta debrief the others, too.”

Jack slowly unwound his arms, then gave a stern nod before returning to the task. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I don’t know what to say, Gabe. But I’m here for you. Just…don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.”

Jack set the last of the bandages and returned with a length of gauze. His fingers brushed against Gabriel’s shoulder as he wound it over the bandages. Jack then worked down along his side, checking the smaller abrasions, applying gauze and tape where it was needed. Gabriel focused on the minute spots of pressure as he let the last of his thoughts evaporate.

“There.” Jack’s voice was little more than a whisper, softer than the snap of latex-free gloves as he pulled them off. “You’re good to go.”

Jack turned away. Gabriel shot out his hand without thinking, landing on a warm thigh. Jack went still under his touch, eyes frozen on his hand, mouth open.

“Thank you, Jack.”

Jack was silent and still for a long moment, until he let out a long breath. “It’s nothing.”

A warm palm roved over his shoulder, light enough to make Gabriel shiver. Jack’s other hand curled on the inside of his elbow, fingernails a light scratch against his skin. Gabriel flexed his fingers over the fabric of Jack’s pants, pulling back a little, resting close to his knee. Warmth flooded his veins. The slight contact felt good, secure. Gabriel shifted on the bed until Jack was pressed against his side.

“So,” Jack mumbled, “We’re okay?”

“Yeah. We’re okay.” Gabriel let his injured arm curve around Jack’s back. He was warm and soft under his hand, his shoulders moving with slow, even breaths.With a tilt of his head, he caught Jack’s eyes, only for his lashes to flutter and his chin to jerk away. A small smile curved on Jack’s mouth, followed by a faint pink sheen that made the freckles on his cheeks stand out. Jack’s leg started moving under his hand, tapping an even rhythm against the floor boards.

Jack moved toward him, slow and awkward. His breath fanned over Gabriel’s cheek before his mouth pressed against the scar on Gabriel’s cheek. Gabriel pulled his hand off Jack’s knee and brought it to his temple, spreading his fingers through fine blond hair. Jack’s mouth met his properly, warm and sweet, the touch lingering long after he pulled away.

Gabriel could have lost himself in those eyes, in the soft curve of his lips.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Jack said, “I know you didn’t get enough last night.”

Gabriel choked back on a laugh. “That’s your fault. Didn’t know you were a kicker.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but Gabriel focused on his smile, instead. “I need to go check on Brooks. I’ll wake you up for watch in five hours, okay?”

“Early morning shift?”

“Yeah.” Jack made to move off the bed, seemed to think better of it, and shifted back on the mattress. “One more thing before I go,” he said, taking Gabriel’s arm in both hands. He lowered his mouth to Gabriel’s bandaged shoulder, his lips warm, soft. “There.”

“You’re sappy as hell, you know that?”

Jack let out a sigh. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Don’t stay up, okay?”

“You’re the boss.”

Jack returned his playful grin as he slipped off the bed, stopping by the door to retrieve his kit bag. Gabriel caught one last look before Jack closed the door. In the sudden quiet, he realized his heart was pounding, and reached for his neglected sewing.

Distant, like rumbling thunder under his feet, familiar music played. Someone let out a cheer at the sudden addition of music.

Gabriel stomped his foot down on the floor. “I did _not_ spend the last six months of my life listening to the fucking Beach Boys to have to listen to it when it’s optional!” he yelled.

Gabriel settled back onto the bed with his sweater spread out across his lap and a needle and thread in hand, smiling at the distant echo of Jack’s laugh, and the loud, thunderous roar that was definitely Olsen. He worked through the stitches in a soothing rhythm as the laughter was replaced with the clink of plates, then Jack’s debrief, his voice calm and authoritative.

The cabin was nice. Far enough from civilization, but not too far, and the fireplace was a nice touch. The forest and the fields were beautiful in a stark way that made him think of the open fields in Indiana Jack had once called home.

Maybe, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh...sorry about that cliffhanger and then disappearing for a month. My anxiety, depression, and dysphoria all teamed up to kick my ass. I'm feeling a lot better now so things are looking up! 
> 
> Catch me at skiesovertatooine.tumblr.com


	28. Chapter 28

Gabriel fell asleep with his freshly mended coat in his lap, the needle and thread set aside on the table. Despite the creaky springs, the cloying smell of must, and the droning howl of the storm, his head was dark and quiet, dreams evaded. The undertow of exhaustion pulled him under into a sea of blackness. When he woke with a hand on his shoulder, the water let him go. Gabriel blinked the sleep from his eyes, searching for Jack’s silhouette in the dark. He pulled him arms up over his head in a slow, languid stretch, joints popping.

Jack made a small, strangled noise of disapproval. “Time for watch. You sleep okay? Feel fine?”

“Mmm. No need to worry.” Gabriel slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Three.”

“Who’s on watch?” Gabriel felt through the dark for Jack’s body, eyes sliding closed. Another few minutes would be lovely. His fingers met flex armor.

“Ruscito and Brooks.” Jack shifted on the bed. A hand slid over his bare stomach. He must have kicked back the blankets in his sleep. Jack’s hand was warm and heavy, a calming, solid weight.

He walked his fingers up Jack’s armor, pressing his palm flat over the chest piece. He let it sit, moving with Jack’s slow, even breaths. A heartbeat thrummed through muscle and bone. “Good morning.”

Jack moved through the dark. The hand on his stomach slid up over his chest to catch his chin, pulling him up against Jack’s mouth. Slowly, his mind fogged with sleep, he relaxed into the kiss, throwing an arm up over Jack’s shoulder. He raked a hand over the back of his shirt and gripped tight to pull Jack closer.

He tipped his head, eager to deepen the kiss, a moment before Jack pulled away, his smile bright even in the dark. “We’d better get dressed and head out.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Gabriel grunted.

No time for them. Of course not. He gave his head a shake, hoping that he could brush off the dust of sleep. They were on a mission hunting down Omnics. He had to remember that, keep his head clear. Jack was command for the moment. You didn’t try to make out with your unit commander while on an active mission. Well, he’d known a few people who’d _tried_. Love in wartime and all that. He scoffed at the memory.

Jack slipped off the bed and flicked on the light. Gabriel groaned, a hand moving to block his sensitive eyes. “Never was a morning person.”

“I’ve noticed.” Jack bent down to rifle through their kit bags. He tossed Gabriel’s clothes over his shoulder. He caught them and pulled them on bit by bit before moving off the bed, setting his weight slowly. Nothing hurt for the most part. The bandages on his shoulder bore only a little bit of rust. Looked pretty damn good, all considering. He’d gotten off lucky.

The Omnics had gotten the drop on him. Should be dead.

The thought didn’t make him feel any better as he wrestled on his boots and zipped up his parka. Jack handed him his rifle and tipped his head toward the door, an invitation for him to go first.

The house creaked with the wind. “How bad is it outside?” he whispered.

“Guess we’ll see.”

Jack followed close behind him. Gabriel ran his gloves over the stock of his rifle, checking the safety as was routine. He threw open the front door and recoiled at the blast of snow and wind. Jack bumped into his shoulder, pushing him out into the storm.

“Fuck.” Gabriel’s boots slipped on the front step, and he half-fell into a snowdrift that came close to his knees. “What the fuck kind of weather is this? Shit.” He blinked rapidly, fighting against the flakes of snow determined to stick in his eyelashes. Jack stepped past him, grinning from ear to ear like his misery was a game. Grumbling under his breath, Gabriel trudged through the snowbank.

“It’s actually warmed up a bit,” Jack mused. He jabbed a finger at the sky. “Starting to clear up. Just hope the dropship isn’t buried somewhere.”

“Always the optimist, huh?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Down the lane, past the half-buried trucks and cars, he caught a flash of movement. Ruscito lifted an arm in greeting. Jack signaled back.

They had a nice little knoll, covered in barren trees, shielded on one side by a shed. Would be enough to cut the wind, and one could watch the forest behind, while the other scoured the open fields. Good lines of sight both ways.

They traded off. Ruscito was all too eager to get back inside the cabin, but Brooks lingered, glancing back at him from the corner of her eye. He nudged Jack as they set their packs down against the back of the shed. “She know something we don’t?”

“Huh?” Jack’s coat rustled as he settled in against the trunk of a tree, rifle in his lap. “Don’t think so.”

Gabriel plopped down with a sigh. Just like Jack not to notice the little things. “Do you think she knows about _us_?”

Jack’s head cocked toward him. His mouth was curled up at one corner. Cute, somehow. “No. Don’t think so,” he said. Jack’s fingers rolled over the stock of his rifle. He hummed as he started tugging on the shoulder strap. “Was that why you were acting strange yesterday?”

“I wasn’t—”

Jack lifted his chin. He was smiling, soft, but distant somehow. “You’re not just shy?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Nah.”

He squinted through the dark trees. The sky was beginning to clear, leaving strips of open sky. Still too much snow to pick out any stars. Come morning it’d be a lot easier to move, but any tracks the Omnics might have left would be buried.

Winter had never really touched Oregon except up in the mountains. Always seemed to melt before it caused problems. The equipment they had on hand wasn’t anything close to what he’d used back in Portland, however. Park Hill’s radio silence was another concern he didn’t have the energy for. That was Jack’s problem either way.

Jack folded the rifle strap between his hands methodically. “Guess we should, ah…” he rocked to one side until he fell down in the snow, stretching out to roll onto his stomach, rifle aimed up the hill. “Set boundaries.”

“I wasn’t subtle,” Gabriel muttered, so low hopefully Jack didn’t hear him. He coughed to clear his throat and spoke up. “It’s not personal, Jack. It’s—”

“Fraternization.”

The kiss that morning certainly was, and Jack rushing into combat to save his sorry ass was another transgression that, had they been in a normal military unit, would have gotten them dragged into trouble. But they weren’t in an actual unit. SEP existed outside normal military parameters. And as far as either of them knew, no one was wise to their relationship.

So long as it stayed that way, Gabriel could almost relax.

He exhaled. His breath hung on the air only for a moment, a testament to the receding cold. “I didn’t think you’d noticed. Was kind of hoping you hadn’t.”

Jack stretched out one foot behind him, bracing himself against the ground. “I figured we were with friends, so—”

“I’m sorry, Jack, I—”

“It’s okay.” Fingers drummed against the stock of his rifle.

Gabriel started copying his movements, setting his rifle sights on the open field. Had to stay vigilant. Couldn’t get too carried away with talking.

“I guess I, uh…got excited,” Jack mumbled. He could catch the hint of a blush across snow-kissed cheeks. Jack kept his eyes focused on the ridge of trees. Gabriel dragged his gaze away from sandy eyelashes flecked with snow to check the open field. Still bare and cold. The sky was slowly beginning to clear. No trace of the moon or stars, not yet. When Jack spoke again, his voice was lower, his cadence slow and careful. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Gabe. So…what are we gonna do?”

“You got excited?”

Jack twisted his head back to stare at him, one brow cocked. “Well, yeah.”

Gabriel’s heart gave a sharp squeeze. Huh. He clunked his head back against the shed. Jack’s earlier words rang in his head. _Figured I had you beat._

Just how long had Jack been waiting?

“Well to start, we shouldn’t get too comfortable in front of anyone,” Gabriel said, “Not even our friends.”

They’d already seen them get _more_ than comfortable, but no one seemed to think anything of it. Olsen’s lighthearted teasing was the worst of it, but he wasn’t concerned about her. The only person he was concerned about was Fleming; he’d caught him and Jack in the middle of the night, after all. Likely didn’t have any proof but seeing as Jack had done a great job of pissing him off…

Gabriel closed his eyes, just for a moment. The drone of the wind was almost comforting. “It’s a little cold.”

Jack propped himself up on one elbow. “You want my coat?”

“Think you can do without it?”

Jack let out a sharp sigh. “Yeah. Hold tight.”

He rolled up onto his feet and shifted to sit beside Gabriel, dropping his rifle in the snow to shuck off his coat. Gabriel leaned forward to allow Jack to drape his parka over his shoulders. It was warm. Smelled like him, bright like oranges, but with the chemical smell of the facility underneath the veneer. Jack’s hand slid over his shoulder, soft and solid, before he reached down to retrieve his rifle. He kept his pale eyes trained on the trees, but a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “I told you I’ve never done this before, right?”

“You told me you’d never dated, yeah.”

“Not just dated.” Jack shifted next to him until their shoulders touched, and kicked his legs out straight. He rocked his knee as he spoke, voice low and soft. “I mean, the last time I felt like this, I was just a kid.” He breathed out a plume of mist. “This is…all new.” He laughed, the sound short-lived. Fingernails clicked against the stock of his rifle. Gabriel watched his rolling knuckles. “I…I really care about you, Gabe. I want you to feel safe, and—”

Jack cut himself off with a jerk of his chin, gazing out into the trees.

“All I need is to take this slow,” Gabriel said. He reached out to set his hand over Jack’s. Slowly his head turned, until he was staring into friendly blue eyes. “I already feel safe with you.”

“Slow,” Jack repeated. He leaned against Gabriel’s shoulder, warm as a goddamn furnace even without his coat. With a sigh he set his head in the crook of Gabriel’s neck, blond hair tickling against his cheek. “Honestly Gabriel, we could just have _this_ , and I’d be happy.”

A fist took his heart and squeezed. Gabriel’s breath stalled deep in his lungs. He blinked away his surprise as he worked to pull in a shallow breath. “Can I ask you something?”

Jack was silent. Gabriel focused on the shaking of the trees overhead, on the distant chatter from the cabin, the even tempo of Jack’s breaths. He laced his fingers over Jack’s, half-hoping the touch would pull words out of him, but he kept still and quiet.

He wanted to know _how long_. If Jack had been thinking about him like this back when they first met, or when he was down on the border, or after they’d both joined SEP. He didn’t have the guts.

“Better not be falling asleep,” he said softly.

Jack’s head shook against his shoulder. “Had some coffee. I’m awake.”

“Coffee, huh?”

Jack pulled himself off Gabriel’s shoulder with a shuddering sigh and reached for his kit bag. “Might be a little cold now. And I know you don’t like it black, but…” He shoved a thermos at Gabriel’s chest. “I’ll share.”

“Thanks.” Gabriel set his rifle on his knee—thumb running over the safety, just in case—and took the thermos in both hands. He kept his eyes trained on the open field as he took a sip, determined to focus. Probably hadn’t been a great idea for the two of them to go out together, but that wasn’t on his shoulders. At least it gave them a few hours to talk, one on one.

The coffee was still warm, but it was instant, and he frowned at the taste. “Did you get any sleep?”

Jack shifted to draw his knees close to his chest, rifle parked firmly against his shoulder. “I mean, hardwood floors aren’t the most comfortable. But yeah. I did.”

“So you’re not worried?”

“Worried.” Jack pulled his lip between his teeth. His eyes flicked back toward Gabriel, sitting for a moment before he was staring back up the hill. “We’re closing in. Have to be close to the crash site. Those Omnics wouldn’t have been in such good condition if they’d been dropped from a few thousand feet.”

True. The quality of Bastion units had dropped as Omnium resources dwindled, after all. He’d seen it happen in Oregon firsthand.

“I mapped it out,” Jack said. He jabbed a finger straight ahead, down the valley. “Not sure what their emergency landing protocols are like, but if they think anything like people, I’m sure they wouldn’t have gone down in the trees if they could avoid it. Few open stretches to look. Would have been a lot easier out of a helicopter.”

“No shit.”

“Could have shot us down easier, too,” Jack mused. “Guess it’s another point in Deschamps’ favor if we can pull this off with fifteen soldiers and outdated supplies.” He tugged on the strap of his rifle, as if to complain. They weren’t the state-of-the-art weapons they had sitting back in the firing range at their facility, that was for sure, but they were sturdy and reliable enough to do the trick. Their shit radios, on the other hand, and their light flex armor? Bigger problems.

“Almost tempting to flub the mission,” Gabriel snorted, “Let her get her ass kicked for once.”

Jack didn’t laugh. His mouth hardened out into a line. Gabriel’s stomach started to sink.

“Don’t listen to me. Trying to think on the bright side.”

“The bright side being us getting killed,” Jack muttered.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“She’s on her way out.” Jack nudged him with an elbow. Gabriel passed him the thermos. “Can’t say I’ll miss her too much.”

“Jack.” Gabriel reached out for his arm. Jack stopped with the thermos halfway to his mouth, his eyes cold but curious. Back to defensive. “What did she _do_ to you?”

Jack lowered the thermos into his lap. He buckled forward until his elbows hit his knees. Fingers drummed on the stock of his rifle. Had to be a nervous habit or a stim, Gabriel wasn’t sure.

He kept mostly still, staring out into the trees, expression tightly wound, eyes focused. When he started talking his voice was like gravel against Gabriel’s tired ears. “When she first called me in…I don’t know. I didn’t think it meant anything. Figured it was something she did for everyone.” He paused to sip at the thermos, wincing. Probably from the taste. “She started asking about the stuff in my files…old missions. I got curious, so I asked.”

“Asked what?”

“Why she was sorting through it,” Jack said. “That’s, uh, when she told me about advanced placement. The new unit leaders they wanted to start training early.”

Right. Of course. Gabriel held his hand out. Jack passed the thermos back.

Still tasted disgusting, but the bite was a good distraction from some of his messier thoughts.

“I…asked who else she had. You weren’t—” Jack stopped cold. He leaned against Gabriel’s side as he stretched his legs out straight. “You already know.”

“I do.”

“Told her she didn’t want someone like me,” Jack said, “She said…that I was wrong.”

No shortage of strong-jawed, blue-eyed young men at SEP, that was for sure, but Gabriel’s stomach sank as Jack fell silent. Had to be more to it, then. He playfully shouldered Jack, forcing a grin. His hope that it would catch on only soured when Jack lifted his eyes. Dull, distant. Sad. _Shit_.

“I figured, at first, she just thought I was being self-critical or something,” Jack muttered, “I know I’m good at what I can do, but that’s not what she wanted from me. Well.” Jack chewed on his lip. “Not exactly.”

“Jack…”

“She wanted someone who could make the hard calls without hesitation.”

Hard calls. A bit of an archaic look at command, but that wasn’t surprising, seeing as most of Deschamps’ military knowledge wasn’t first hand. “Thought she just wanted poster boys,” he grunted. He was still a little bitter, but their talk the night before soothed his nerves. Still, he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “Hard calls. Like I haven’t made them.”

“She _did_ want poster boys,” Jack grunted, “You’re not wrong about that, Gabriel.” He pulled away from his side to cross his arms over his chest. Fingers clutched the fabric of his undershirt. “Listen…things were a mess down in Laredo.”

Gabriel bit down on his tongue. He had a damn lot to say, and more questions to ask, but Jack’s eyes were hard points focused on the distance. He tracked his gaze. Nothing but dark spaces between the trees and a swirl of snow. He forced in a deep breath. No point in pushing an answer out of Jack. If he didn’t want to say it, fine. He could deal. He knew enough to be able to understand that the battlefield had been nothing short of hell on Earth.

“You ever have to—” Jack pulled his knees to his chest and set his chin on his arms. His body shivered slightly, but Gabriel suspected that wasn’t the fault of the cold. “Have you ever been in a situation where you had no choice? You know...a split-second decision. Where you had to trust your gut and hope it was the right thing?”

Gabriel’s stomach dropped. He closed his eyes and pulled in a shuddering breath, the memory slamming straight into his chest like a hammer. Seventeen. His friend’s laughter stung in his ears, but he hadn’t been amused. His cousin left the car engine running with Gabriel strapped into the passenger seat, willfully ignoring Zav and his friends as they puffed on cigarettes. He used to have a stubborn streak like nothing else, and his pride had been wounded by a poor joke made at his expense. A light flicked on inside a house down the street and they stilled, conversation dripping away.

Gravel crunched as another car rounded the corner. He blinked away the glare of headlights.

He hadn’t acted fast enough.

Gabriel drew in a long, deep breath. Jack had fallen silent at his side, still save for the minute roll of his knuckles. He focused on the flakes of snow gathering on the sleeve of his coat. His heart thudded in his ears.

Jack reached between them for the abandoned thermos, bumping his arm in the process. He breathed out an apology and sat back, head thumping against the shed. “Went two weeks without an air strike. Felt like years. Some people started getting optimistic, talking about how the main fight must have been going well.” Jack offered him the thermos. Gabriel shook his head and Jack shrugged back, took another swig. “I knew that wasn’t the case but I kept my mouth shut. No point in telling them. I was, uh...sitting in a med tent on the south side of the camp. Kid fell and cut herself on some shrapnel, so I walked her over.” Jack rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Next thing I knew I was on the ground. Couldn’t hear anything over the sirens and the turrets.”

Just like—

“I remember...it was raining. Someone was pulling on my sleeve.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Julietta, I think. Or Raymond.”

“Shit, Jack.”

Jack shifted against his shoulder. “I got up. Couldn’t think. The doctors were dead. Some of the patients, too. Roof caved in. But I got the kids and one of the nurses out and across the field. Didn’t have anywhere to go, really. Just needed to find cover.”

Gabriel nodded. He felt for Jack’s arm. Still warm despite the snow. He kept his voice soft, careful. “How long ago was this?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack murmured, “I can’t remember exactly. Maybe…two years ago.”

His eyes glazed over. Jack’s mouth curved into a frown. With a jerk he folded over himself, dropping his rifle in the snow to push both hands into his hair.

“Jack—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed. Gabriel reached out for his shoulder. Jack flinched at the touch and he pulled his hand back, letting it hang in the cool air.

“Jack, talk to me, please—”

He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. Slowly, Jack’s stance relaxed. Gabriel gently set his hand on Jack’s elbow, and he sighed, loosening up at the contact. “It was just me, thirteen kids, and that nurse in a shelled-out house, with Predators and Bastions dropping across the field. Turrets were doing okay, but we were cut off. I was really lucky. I had a thermal cloak on me. Dropped it and told the kids to get down and stay quiet and…we just laid there, Gabriel. Listening to the rain on the roof.” Fingers shifted through his hair as he pulled his hands away from his head. “Full of holes.”

Gabriel swept his hand up Jack’s arm, over his shoulder, to rest on the back of his neck. He edged his fingers against Jack’s hair, soft and damp with snow. His distress was clear as day. He wouldn’t stop shaking.

“…The nurse started getting nervous.”

Jack went stiff under his hand. Gabriel stroked down his back, letting his hand slide across his shoulders to pull him against his side. He was warm but unyielding, about as soft as a rock.

“He…started talking,” Jack muttered, “Kept getting louder…the kids were being good, but he just lost it.” Jack gestured loosely with one hand, but Gabriel had no idea what he was trying to convey, or if he just needed to move, to work out his distress.

Not exactly promising.

“Bastions were getting closer to the house, and he—he tried to run—he would have given away our position—” Jack made a strangled noise, moving his chin down to hide his face. Gabriel’s blood froze despite the warmth of both their parkas.

“They were just _kids_ , Gabe, I couldn’t risk them—”

“Jack…”

“I killed him.”

Gabriel’s hand stalled on Jack’s shoulder. He’d felt it coming, but the words stuck through his ribs.

Jack pulled in a harsh, shaking breath. “Had to be quiet—I can still—” He spread out his hand. Snow fell against his palm and swiftly melted into little drops of water. “Have you ever done it, Gabe?”

The weight of the confession settled around them with the fresh snow.

Shit. Gabe shook his head sharply. His throat had swollen tight. “No,” he croaked.

“I hope you never have to.” Jack shifted against his side, reaching down for his abandoned rifle. He was still for a moment, teeth clamped down on his lip, before his mouth curved into a snarl. “My father would have been proud of me.”

Shock rolled through Gabriel's gut. 

“Fuck, Jack.” Gabriel reached for his chin and pulled Jack around to face him. His eyes were bright and clear, focused to sharp points. “Don’t you dare do that to yourself. Don’t you _dare_ compare yourself to him.” His heart beat like thunder in his chest. Lightning ran through his veins, spurred by his anger and fear. “You made a tough call but what matters is that you were trying to help people. _Innocent_ people. People who got to live because you acted when you had to.”

Jack held his gaze. There was a weight behind his eyes, and, dim though it was, a spark. Gabriel let his thumb trace over his jaw. Jack’s eyes slowly closed.

“They did,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “They got moved to a permanent camp in Arizona.”

“Because of you.”

“Doesn’t make it easier,” Jack said, voice shaking. “I don’t…I don’t want to think about this anymore. I need to—”

It was a bad idea, and Gabriel's gut was a roiling mess, but he moved toward Jack without thinking, tucking his hands under his strong jaw and pulling him flush to his mouth.

Jack made a small, muffled sound, pulling back slightly. His breath was so goddamn warm against Gabriel’s lips that he shivered. Electricity crawled across his heart and lungs. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “Figured a distraction was in order.”

Jack's breath came in short, warm puffs. He blinked slowly, eyes softening.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

Jack’s hand shot out to curve under Gabriel’s hood. Fingers raked through his hair as Jack surged toward him to capture his mouth, warm and firm and overwhelming. Gabriel melted against him, his thoughts clearing from his head.

The kiss softened to a slow, gentle touch. Jack slowly pulled away. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to stare at his hands, now gripping the front of Gabriel's parka. “…For everything. For listening.”

Gabriel let out a deep sigh as he moved against the shed, pulling Jack closer to his side. “You know, you’re gonna do okay,” Gabriel said. The words came smoothly, uninterrupted, his mind clear and sure for the first time in what felt like ages. “I know you’re not used to command, and you’ve got a bit to learn—” Jack chuckled into his shoulder at that, and Gabriel grinned—“But you’ve got what it takes, Jack. You just need to be a little easier on yourself and keep trusting your gut. Okay?”

“Didn’t know you used to have a job as a life coach,” Jack grunted.

“Any coffee left?”

“Yeah. Think so.”

Gabriel reached down to recover his rifle. The sky had cleared considerably when he hadn’t been paying attention. Stars glinted weakly in the space between the thick, gray clouds. Jack pressed the thermos against his arm. Gabriel finished it off and passed it back with a whispered thank you.

Jack curled up against his side with a sigh, rifle loosely aimed up the hill. “You’re freezing,” he mumbled.

“And you’re a furnace.”

A light, airy laugh moved Jack’s body. “Guess we balance out, huh?”

“Guess so.”

-

Gabriel didn’t bother heading back upstairs after two Park Hills soldiers took watch. The early morning was still and suffocating, the only sounds the breathing of the sleeping soldiers in the living room and the beginning of birdsong. He focused on the electric kettle, listening to the roll as it boiled, tapping a spoon against the empty thermos. Coffee would be nice. Jack certainly needed more; he was collapsed at the kitchen table, folded over with his hands pushed into his hair. His coat was haphazardly flung over the back of the chair, leaving him in flex armor and a short-sleeved shirt. Gabriel focused on the gentle rise and fall of his back as he poured hot water into the thermos.

He looked peaceful, almost; a rare moment for someone who always seemed to seethe under the surface, no matter how smooth the water seemed.

He wasn’t sleeping. The pace of his breathing was wrong. Halfway between sleep and consciousness. Gabriel figured he needed the quiet. He’d drown silent as the hours ticked by on their watch, and Gabriel’s concern had swelled. Whatever was on his mind—he had a few guesses—was his business. If he wanted to talk, well, he was right there, but he’d pushed more than enough for one day, and needed time of his own to process the revelation.

He supposed it shouldn’t have been a surprise. They were soldiers fighting a difficult war, and something had been chasing Jack since their reunion, he’d just figured it was the memory of what happened in Los Angeles.

No matter the circumstance or the justification, there was no way it could weigh lightly on someone’s consciousness.

Gabriel set the spoon down in the sink and carried the thermos to the table. Jack slowly lifted his head, blue eyes dazed and unfocused.

“Enjoying your nap, old man?”

Jack blinked at him as he unwound his arms to rest his weight on one elbow, hand pinned under his chin. “Been thinking,” he muttered.

That much was obvious.

Nails clicked against the floor. The big yellow dog rounded the corner, fixing Jack with his big, brown eyes, tail and rear wiggling.

Jack instantly brightened, eyebrows shooting up in interest. “Hey, boy.”

The dog settled between their chairs to rest his big head on Jack’s leg. Gabriel reached down to scratch him behind the ears.

“Reminds me of Ranger,” Jack sighed, smoothing a hand over the dog’s head, “You ever have a dog?”

“Nah.” Gabriel lifted his shoulders in a loose shrug. “Always wanted one.”

Jack’s hand stalled on the dog’s head. His mouth turned down in a frown as his eyes pulled away, studying the empty table. “What do we do if we can’t find them?”

“That what you’ve been thinking about?”

“Yeah. Kind of my job to worry about it,” Jack mumbled.

He’d expected a more damning confession, somehow. Jack’s silence had been so heavy, so pervasive, his eyes cold and hard like he was drowning in his thoughts. Gabriel rolled his shoulders, loosening up muscles sore from two hours sitting against a shed. He had to shake the dust out of his head.

“We’re running out of time. Already taken too long.” Jack reached for the thermos but seemed to think twice, pushing it back toward Gabriel. He worried his lip between his teeth, leaving a trail of pink. “If we don’t find that wreck soon we’ll never be able to pick up their trail on our own.”

He didn’t have to say the rest. _People will get killed if we don’t find them before they make it to a town._

“For all I know we’re heading the wrong way,” Jack muttered, “Or they’re already in a town on the other side of the mountain and we won’t get there in time.”

Gabriel smoothed a hand over the dog’s head. He was drooling a bit on Jack’s pants, but he didn’t seem to notice, let alone mind. The dog let out a deep sigh and a little wuff, but he didn’t know enough about dogs to guess if was a note of appreciation.

Jack swept a hand over his brow and into his already messy hair. “We can’t fuck this up, Gabe.”

“Hey. We won’t.” Gabriel reached out to touch him, rubbing his thumb along the curve of his shoulder. Jack’s eyes fluttered closed. “You got your map handy?”

Jack leaned away to ruffle in his kit bag. “Yeah.”

He set out the holomap and the crumpled paper map side by side. Gabriel squinted at the holo as the screen slowly came to life. Thirty kilometers South of the home beacon at Park Hills. They hadn’t covered a lot of ground. What they needed was a helicopter to scout the area, but Deschamps had something to prove, and they’d all suffer for it.

“Too bad we can’t get proper satellite coverage,” Gabriel grunted, tapping the holomap interface. Thing was damn near useless. More reliable in some ways than newer tech; the things were just about impossible to destroy. Too bad Omnics did a good job of dismantling and jamming satellite signals. Analog tech was harder to hack, after all, and sometimes it was easier to stay hidden using the oldest tricks in the book. “Or radar.”

Omnics had destroyed most of the country’s infrastructure in the early days of the war, and tended to out pace whatever they stubbornly put back in place, but—

“Actually.” Gabriel sidled up close to Jack, sweeping a hand over the map, searching for a familiar symbol. “How recent is this map?”

“Uh—” Jack turned it over and squinted at the back corner. “Last year.”

Gabriel punched a set of approximate coordinates into the holomap. “This town’s empty, for the most part,” he said, shifting through a list of evacuation orders dated four years prior. Old information, but it probably held true; not many were able to go home. “Which means their airport’s gotta be closed."

“Yeah.” Jack turned the paper map back over, moving a pencil to the town Gabriel had displayed on the projector. “You’re right. Shut down. Probably got bombed ages ago and the runway’s useless.”

“What better place to put down an airship than—”

“Gabe.”

The drop of his name like a lead weight cleared his head. He pulled back from the table, tapping his fingers on the edge. “What?”

“I worked it out. They couldn’t have made it that far from their altitude back at Park Hills, unless they got an engine running again. Those things have no glide ratio. They drop like rocks.” He let his hand hover over the approximate location of the facility, then smacked it down on the table flat. “They were banked right, circling over us, heading South. Which means—”

He retrieved his pencil and dragged it from Park Hills to the Southwest. He circled a town and sat back, tapping the pencil against his jaw. “Doesn’t make sense, though. They were heading North for St. Louis, and there’s an airport here,” he pointed to the Northwest of Park Hills, “And it’s closed, too. Would have been an easier spot to land.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t think those Omnics were thinking at all, or—”

“Or they weren’t heading for St. Louis.”

“Looking for something? Us?”

“No way they didn’t see us,” Jack said, “Our base is cloaked. Park Hills has to be, too, but our power was shot. Nothing was running.”

Huh. Gabriel chewed on his lip. Omnics didn’t do a damn thing without a good reason. And they _certainly_ wouldn’t come into hostile airspace, alone, and turn back on a mission.

Damn machines were stubborn to no end. They’d see it through, whatever it was.

“What else is to the North of here?”

“Nothing,” Jack replied. “But maybe they were scouting to the South.” He moved his pencil down the map. “They had the cover of a storm. Probably got caught up in hail and that’s why the engines choked. That or icing. Don’t know what kind of systems they build into their dropships anymore, but they’re used to operating them down in Texas and Mexico. Could have been a manufacturing error.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jack let out a sharp sigh. “Forget it. Could be a distraction tactic, but I doubt it. I don’t think they wanted to be seen.”

“Scouts, then.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Gabriel lifted his head from a cloud of thoughts. Olsen dragged a hand down her face as she leaned against the door to the kitchen, her hair a massive puff of wild curls, sleep set in dark circles under her eyes. She fought to contain a yawn. “Hey, you drinking that?”

She gestured to the thermos. Jack passed it to her, and both watched as she chugged the whole thing in one go.

“Morning, Tex.”

“Same to you,” she sighed, dangling the now-empty thermos from one hand. “Was having fun listening to you two, but come on, I figured one of you would get it.” She swayed, hips loose, to sit on the edge of the table, setting the thermos down on the map. Jack let out a sharp hiss and moved to intercept it, but the coffee ring was already made.

Olsen watched him fuss over the map with a bemused grin. “They were looking for us. Not Park Hills.” She waved a hand over the map, humming under her breath. “Park Hills would be on their maps, you know. Old building. Used to be a high school or a college. Whatever. Our facility was brand fuckin’ new, advanced cloaking and jammers—where the fuck _is_ it—”

“Here,” Jack muttered, circling a spot 70 kilometers directly South. He set down the pencil and sat back, frowning at Olsen. “How would they have known where to look for us? The program is top secret—”

“They’re Omnics, Blondie,” Olsen sighed. “Think about it for a second, okay? The program’s funded. Someone went through the trouble of building the new facility, what, two years ago? A year ago? Fuck if I care. What I mean is that someone had crews down here building it, which means there are blueprints on some asshole’s computer, and details in some military file God knows where. Leaks happen.” She paused, tapping a finger against her lips. “Should have built it underground, but I guess that wouldn’t have provided nice enough views for the senator’s kids.”

“Tex—”

“Should have built the facility in Canada, or, I don’t know. Middle of Nebraska.” She shimmied into a chair and pulled it up close to Jack’s shoulder, reaching past him for the holo map. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

Olsen hummed as she punched the keys, her mouth tucked up in a grin. “What better way to face off against a batch of new super soldiers than to strike before they’re in the field?”

Gabriel’s breath hitched in his throat. Jack went rigid at his side, eyes trained on the map, cold and hard. Gabriel shook his head sharply. He wouldn’t let it get to him, not fucking _now_.

The reek of smoke, the sweltering heat of the firing range, Jack’s body stiff but alive under his hands—

“What? Hey, you okay?” Olsen leaned back, waving a hand in front of Jack’s face.

Gabriel swept a hand over his shoulder, touching the back of his neck where the collar of his shirt ended. Jack’s eyes slowly closed and his stance relaxed.

“We’re fine,” he said, “Just—they pulled the same stunt back in Los Angeles. That’s all.”

Olsen nodded. “Right. Of course. Shit.” She covered her mouth with one hand, sucking in deep breaths. “Sorry to say it, brutal as it is, but it’s effective. You know how they’re always talking about how we’ll be able to take the fight to them? They’ve gotta be scared. Surprised they didn’t send out more than one ship.”

“Tex.” Gabriel pulled the holomap out of her hands. “I still think we should check airports. What do you think, Jack?” He lightly shook Jack’s shoulder, but there was no need. He was smiling a little, back to normal. “Even if they crashed in a field, or the woods, would they search on foot or try to repair the dropship?”

“Hangars are probably full of scrap,” Jack mumbled. “Yeah. Worth a shot. I just—” He retrieved his pencil and bit his lip as he moved it over the map in quick little jerks. He rattled off a string of coordindates and Gabriel punched them into the holomap.

“That one’s closed too,” Gabriel said, “Town is probably still empty.”

“That’s it.” Jack set the pencil down. “Better get geared up and moving. Tex?”

“I’ll go wake ‘em up,” she said, “Say no more.”

The dog pulled his head off Jack’s leg to watch Olsen’s departure. Gabriel swept his fingers through long, soft fur.

Jack set his hand down over Gabriel’s. His mouth quirked up at the corners. He spoke in a whisper, eyes gentle but focused on the holomap. “We’re gonna find them,” he said, “We’re gonna kick some ass.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

-

With the advance of the sun the storm cleared, leaving the sky a hazy wash of blue. Light caught on the edges of the snow, now swiftly melting, dripping into Gabriel’s hair from the branches overhead. Birdsong filled the spaces between Olsen and Khan’s back-and-forth banter. He kept his grip on the rifle and his sights trained ahead, following Jack’s advance through the forests.

The rigid outline of a fence broke the monotony of the trees. Jack gave the order to slow and sent Brooks and Ruscito ahead to scout the edge of the field. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. A half-collapsed barn and a little brick house sat under a thick layer of snow, the edges of their roofs lined with dripping ice.

Looked innocent, but every one of them knew better. At Jack’s order—following the all-clear—they crossed the field. The barn door had caved in. Gabriel watched his step as he strode through the rank-smelling ruin. Nothing but old, rotten hay and a fuckton of spoiled grain.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Think I found something.”

Gabriel ducked under a half-broken beam and ran out into the snow, where six soldiers had gathered in a circle, mumbling under their breath. Jack’s head popped up from the group, his smile so bright it almost hurt to look at.

“We’re on the right path,” Jack said, “Check it out.”

Brooks lifted a long, thin piece of metal, black and warped. She rubbed her glove against the metal, leaving a streak of carbon gray. Brooks grinned, her pride at her discovery clear as day. “Probably shrapnel buried all over the field. Could follow it and determine their flight path.”

“Do we have time?” Olsen appeared at his side, bumping against his shoulder. “We’re gaining on your landing site, Morrison.”

Jack’s grin faded. Clear eyes flickered out over the field. “We don’t have time,” he said, “But we don’t have time to make a bad call, either, and backtrack. So…” He pulled his lip between his teeth. A boot started shuffling through the snow, tapping against the exposed ground. “Fifteen minutes, dig up whatever you can. If we don’t find anything we’ll move on our original track.”

After a round of yes, sir, Gabriel was halfway across the field, digging through snow along the side of the house. He hit metal a few times. Shovels, buckets, sheet metal. Nothing that had fallen off a wrecked Omnic dropship. He let out a sigh and watched it fade into the air. The sun was doing good work to warm up the air, and he pulled off his balaclava and gloves despite the nip.

Staring across the field back towards the low swell of mountains, he thought it was almost beautiful.

“Hey.”

Snow crunched under advancing boots. Gabriel lifted his head from his thoughts and smiled at Jack. The sun caught in his hair and reflected bright in his silvery eyes, like he was overexposed. “Got thinking,” Gabriel said, “And I know Khan is the man to do the math, but, we’re on the right track. Airport’s not far from here, right?”

Jack’s head bobbed in a nod. “Just hoping they didn’t drop more Bastions out here in the fields. Too open.”

The trek down the mountain to the airport was a mess of open fields, thin strips of forest, and open regional roads. Not a lot of cover, and if the Omnics were set up down on the runway, they’d be seen coming straight in. They’d have to split and circle around or find another way to stay undetected.

Thanks to the quickly warming day, they’d be a bit tougher to pick out against the snow. Something.

Jack propped a shoulder against the side of the house and made a show of looking casual, crossing his legs at the ankles. He let out a long, tightly-wound sigh. “This could be it, Gabe.”

“You worried?”

Lines creased under Jack’s eyes. “Nah. I don’t know. I mean—” he jerked his chin away, breaking eye contact to stare up into the sky. “Just fifteen of us.”

“Fifteen super soldiers.”

“I don’t know about you, Gabe, but...I don’t really feel that different.” Jack rolled his shoulders and lowered his rifle into one hand, letting the muzzle sweep into the snow. “Feel like I’ve just been on vacation.”

“Well, some of us have.”

The joke earned him a short, awkward laugh from Jack. He shot out a hand and shook Gabriel’s shoulder, grinning. “Should have realized something was wrong on day one,” he sighed, “No rank, no unit, no CO. Just us and a bunch of doctors. Guess in hindsight it was obvious.”

No shit.

Gabriel pushed away from the side of the house and reached down for the shovel he’d unearthed. “Don’t worry, Farm Boy. We’ll make Deschamps proud. But not too proud. I’d still love to see her get fired.”

“If they _don’t_ fire her—”

“They’re corporate goons,” Gabriel grunted, throwing the shovel into the snow. “SEP might be done but there could be another scam on the horizon and she’s the woman for the job. Guess it depends on how much evidence Castillo can dig up.”

“And whether or not the military gets its hands on her.”

“You even know what division we’re part of?” Gabriel had no real interest in an answer, but Jack needed the distraction. Didn’t need to worry about her more than he already did. “I’d like to know if I’m technically a Marine.”

“Would be pretty cool,” Jack muttered.

“SEP could have been something,” Gabriel said, “Could have spent this time honing the deadliest group of soldiers on the goddamn planet. Didn’t even learn how to parachute.”

“You’ve seen too many movies, I think.”

“It looks fun, okay? You know that scene from one of the shitty Bond films—” Gabriel leaned on the shovel and nearly lost his balance, boots slipping in the snow. “He parachutes out and hits the water in scuba gear. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Wouldn’t that kill him?”

“You’re no fun today.” Gabriel tossed the shovel back against the side of the building. Time was up. He caught Olsen’s eyes across the field and lifted his hand to wave. “I think you need to get out a little more, Jack. Watch more ridiculous movies. Dream big.”

“I dream big enough,” Jack mumbled.

Gabriel tore his eyes away from Jack’s pleasant smile, gaze shifting over the valley ahead. The sun painted the slope and spread long shadows from the sparse copses of trees. He could just pick out the control tower over the swell of a hill, shining like a beacon in the sun.

Onward.

-

Easy words and light laughter chased their trek over the hills. Excitement thrummed in Gabriel’s blood. The last time he’d been in active combat, it had been a perfectly clean mission. Just one of many on his record.

Old routines came back as they neared the airport. He didn’t need to think about it when Jack called for them to stop up on the ridge.

He smelled the reek of fuel before he sighted the dropship. Black trailed down the broken runway. The sun caught along the edges of scrap metal littered across the tarmac. The wreck sat on its side, left wing and engines shorn off. Ragged metal teeth opened to reveal nothing but an empty cargo hold.

“Shit,” Olsen breathed.

Ahead, Jack tossed his rifle over his shoulder and gestured to Ruscito for the thermal binoculars. He squinted into the lenses and fell silent. Gabriel pushed a hand through his curls and shuffled his feet before returning his grip to his rifle, checking the safety and the magazine both because it was routine and because he was nervous. He padded down his side, ensuring the rest of his shit equipment was in order, from the combat knife to his med kit.

The control tower sat near the wreck at the far end of the runway. From their vantage point on the hill the airport was set out so he could see over the hangars lining the taxiways and aprons to the half-wrecked airplanes sitting out in the open. Metal gleamed under the sun but nothing moved. No Omnics, at least out on the aprons.

“They should be here,” Jack muttered, lowering the binoculars.

Gabriel let his eyes track from one end of the airport to the other. No streaks of black in the snow headed away from the airport. Too far away to see any tracks in the snow if there were any.

The hangars were all shut tight, save for one, which had crumbled into a scrap heap of corrugated metal covered in snow. Among the wreckage he could make out the tail section of an aircraft and a sun-faded airline logo.

“Wait,” Gabriel muttered. He reached up to pull down his hood and wrestled his goggles off over his head. He ignored the curious eyes watching him as he tipped his head, turning an ear toward the airport buildings. “You hear that?”

“What?”

“They’re here,” Gabriel said, “I think they’re in the hangars.”

Jack pulled the binoculars back to his eyes. A scowl tipped on his mouth. “I’m not picking up any signatures.”

“Probably dropped a cloak,” Khan said. He twisted around to fix Gabriel with his glittering black eyes. “You a hundred percent, Thirteen?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel grunted. “You’ll be able to hear it when we get closer.”

“Alright.” Jack ran a gloved hand over his jaw, mouth worked up into a frown, eyes hard and distant. “I want that wreck checked out first. Khan, Gallagher, Ho, McClane, you’re on it. If you see anything in working condition, change that.”

“Yessir.”

“Ruscito, you’re our best shot.” Jack pulled out the paper map and folded it down to a square before shoving it into his hands. “Watch from the shadow of the tower, keep an eye on the hangar doors, watch for any units behind the buildings. Garcia, watch his back.”

“Got it.”

Gabriel was assigned to the third unit with Jack and Olsen. They’d take the right side of the largest hangar while the others skirted around behind the wreck and the control tower. Not a perfect play by any means, but considering their numbers and the open nature of the airport, he might have constructed the same plan.

No time to think twice about it. The dull metallic whine stung his ears.

He kept his focus trained on the faded red paint of the hangar as they rounded the end of the runway. Gabriel’s thoughts slowly unwound until there was nothing left but the need to keep moving. They kept close to the edge of the trees, moving under a warped metal structure that Jack called an _ALS_.

On approach toward the hangar, keeping tight to the tall metal fence, Jack winced like he’d been slapped and stopped dead in his tracks. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, “The hell are they doing?”

“Picked it up, huh?” Gabriel grunted. About goddamn time. “They’re doing exactly what we thought. Looking for scrap.”

Jack dropped his rifle and bent to a crouch, fiddling with his goggles before pulling his hood up over his windswept hair. Maybe to soften the noise; it was awfully grating, after all. He could see the twitch in Olsen’s jaw. The only show of frustration she allowed. Brooks seemed unworried and bounced on her feet, nervous or excited.

Jack took a moment to recover and gave the order to keep moving. Across the field, just past the edge of the hangars, he caught the glint of sun off Ruscito’s mask from his hiding spot. Khan’s unit would advance on the wreck along with Charlie unit, before meeting them in the middle.

The metallic grind was obnoxiously loud when they reached the hangar.

Across the field, something glinted by the hull of the wreck. All-clear.

On the other side of the hangar, Matthews gave the same signal.

They all knew the play and moved in tandem, spreading out down the side of the hangar. Jack hung back by the corner of the building, a grenade ready in his hand, holding the signal for his counterpart on the other side of the door.

The plan was simple enough: Ruscito would give a count after the wreck was cleared, and all three units would converge from the rear hangar doors after Jack and Matthews set the distraction by blowing in the main door.

He went over it in his head, imagining where the Bastions would be camped. He grit his teeth against the noise. Water dripped down from the roof, stinging against his nose.

Jack’s voice was a low purr through the radios. _“Ruscito, any signatures?”_

Silence. Gabriel ticked his nails against the butt of his rifle, muscles begging to unwind and power him through the hangar’s back door the moment Olsen kicked it down. They’d have a few seconds of shock and needed to make every goddamn shot count before the goddamn machines converted to turrets and ripped them to shreds.

The apron behind the hangar was crowded with the skeletons of small aircraft, little more than frames, their skin shorn off. A huge fuel truck sat idle on the tarmac, glistening with ice and snow. He stared at it for a lack of anything else to do. Pleasant enough distraction from the noise.

What was taking Ruscito so long? Unless—

Jack’s voice sang over the radio, repeating the question.

_“Dropped a cloak in the middle of the floor,”_ came Ruscito’s voice, _“Can only catch them when they move out of the radius. Careful in there. Three predators, at least. East wall.”_

_“On my count—”_

Gabriel closed his eyes. He wouldn’t have time to rest them after they moved into the building.

Two rumbles like thunder cut through the silence, drowning out the whine of the machines. The echo rocked through the hangar’s metal shine, ringing up his spine. Gabriel sprang to his feet and followed Olsen as she neatly slammed down the flimsy back door, bodies bumping against his shoulder.

He didn’t have time to focus on the gaps in the hangar door, the rolling plumes of smoke, nor the sparks emitted by the Bastions and Drones crawling over the hull of a luxury jet like insects on carrion.

Machines stopped peeling away strips of metal to look toward the door.

Gunfire sang.

Gabriel moved without thought, his heart kicking up, sweat beading along his brow. Plasma bit into Omnic hulls, melting through their defenses. Terrified beeps and screeches filled in the space as the grinding noise wore away, the units distracted from their scavenging.

Olsen moved in front of him in a blur, swinging out the butt of her rifle to neatly remove a Bastion’s head with a hearty _thunk._

Gabriel ducked to the right, head down, circling behind the jet. In the chaos of smoke and gunfire he caught a Bastion in his sights and shot it clean through its optic. Before the light could flicker out he was moving, his body acting on instinct, a sharp edge commanded by adrenaline and training. A second unit turned to raise the barrel of its rifle. Gabriel dove to his right behind a cargo container. Bullets sang against the cover. He waited for the click of the unit’s magazine to signal it was empty and rolled out, filling its chassis with pulse munitions.

Streak of gray and white moved through the hangar, whoops and jeers and grunts rising over the tide of noise. At least ten down now. How many had Jack expected? Thirty? If they kept this pace the fight would be over in five minutes, tops—

He caught a flash of gray and turned around in time to catch a Bastion with a burst of pulse munitions before it could even fire. As he twisted back around, he sighted a Bastion retreating into a corner, starting the transformation into a turret.

Fuck—

Gabriel forced his body into a sprint and slid under the belly of the jet on his knees, rifle aimed precariously on the unit. A second too late. The machine’s barrel swung around. Gabriel pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

He hadn’t checked the goddamn _magazine_ —

“Get down!”

Jack’s voice boomed like thunder. He shot out of the smoke, a streak of white, landing on top of the Omnic before it could move, driving the butt of his rifle home.

Gabriel scrambled for the magazine and reloaded fast, setting the sights back on the unit. It twisted and spun with Jack attached to its top, revealing a shining blue core in brief flashes.

Gabriel breathed out, cleared his head, and pulled the trigger.

The core blew. The unit crumbled under Jack’s body. He jumped off and was gone back into the fray, nothing more than a ghost on the battlefield.

He stepped over curved sections of metal. Everything echoed in the hangar. Blood pounded in his ears. Under his goggles he was sweating. He sucked in deep, labored breaths. Twenty units down. He squinted into the smoke.

Jack’s plan was fuzzy in his head, but none of it fucking mattered. They’d had no idea what to expect, didn’t know how many there’d be or what kind of defense they might have rigged.

Something huge moved just past the sheen of smoke.

Fuck.

The blood red eye of a Predator unit filtered through the haze.

The massive machine lit up like fireworks.

He didn’t feel the sting of bullets, only felt the rising tide of panic and adrenaline deep in his gut that told him to fucking _run_ , to put as much distance between him and that walking deathtrap as he could. Gabriel scrambled backwards—when had he fallen on his ass?—and leveled the sights with the glow of the machine’s head.

He burst fire against its hull, focusing on the monster’s joints. Something blew in its rear leg and the machine faltered, surging toward the right.

Injured. That much was promising.

Something felt loose and wet in his chest, but he couldn’t be hit, he would have noticed—

“Reyes!”

He couldn’t pick out who’s voice it was, but someone moved on top of the jet’s spine, sprinting towards him, rifle laying down fire against the Predator’s hull.

The array on the four-legged machine’s back swung around, but it was damaged, bent out of shape—

“Get to cover!”

_Jack._

Gabriel pulled himself backward, slipping against the damp concrete floor. There was a bit of cover to his left. He’d need it to reload.

The floor moved under him. Someone cried out. A massive metal limb appeared out of the smoke and smashed into the ground beside his head.

Gabriel stared up at the machine’s underside, entranced and horrified by the thing’s single optic and the machinery crawling under its armored hide.

The boardwalk down at the beach in Santa Monica flashed through his head. The open sky was tinted orange by the evening sun. Airplanes cut bright white trails against deep, deep blue—

He had to see that again—he had to think—where was everyone? It was so _loud_ , but they couldn’t be dead, that couldn’t happen—

His rifle fell from his grip and clattered dully against the floor. Gabriel realized too slowly that he was leaving the ground, metal claws tight around his torso. Red filled his eyes, his head, wavering like smoke rising from a fire.

Not like this. Not without a goddamn _fight_.

Gabriel struggled in the machine’s grip. One arm was free of the machine’s vice. He clawed at the metal arm, seeking out a joint, loose wires, _anything_. Pressure built around his chest. He had mere seconds before it crushed every one of his ribs and killed him. Gabriel felt at his belt for his combat knife and pulled it free, swinging it up and over his head to plunge the metal into the machine’s head up to the hilt. Nothing.

Gabriel pulled it out and rammed it back in, right in the middle of the thing’s optic. The red stuttered out but the machine spun with him in its grip. Just what he needed—to puke on the goddamn thing—

“Gabriel!”

His head hit the shell of the jet with a horrid crack. It lolled on his shoulders as the fight drained away from his body, leaving him dazed and empty.

The machine’s grip opened and Gabriel slid down to the concrete floor, collapsing onto his hands and knees.

Breathe. He was alive. He just had to keep breathing.

He pulled in slow, shaking breaths. His chest creaked and rattled with his exhale. Before he could think he doubled over, staring at flecks of blood on gray concrete. He watched the drops grow, numb as he retched and sputtered and coughed, gagging on blood.

The reek of smoke and spent pulse munitions filled his nose. Gunfire and screams melted into a singular mess inside his skull, throbbing as the pain caught up, moving like lightning over every inch of his body.

The rust-covered concrete was cool against his skin. Gabriel closed his eyes, sucking in rough, shallow breaths. Not like this. Not like this. Not like this.

Quiet rolled over him like a blanket. Something vibrated against the ground near him. Distant, he felt a hand on his shoulder. His nerves caught the edge of someone’s breath close to his cheek, warm but coming in short huffs.

A cloud like sleep pressed at the edges of his mind. Gabriel let it take him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, well, that was another unintended absence. But I'm back and swinging.
> 
> A huge thanks to my friends for supporting me through this hell of a chapter, to Oli and Ash for giving me feedback, and to all of you wonderful people who have stayed with me through this story. ♥


	29. Chapter 29

_ “Stay with me Gabe...that’s it. Keep breathing. In and out. Don’t force it.” _

The voice shook and rattled through Gabriel’s head. Familiar. Comforting despite the edge of panic below the soft tone. A dull ringing swam over a following string of words. Gabriel bit down on a groan and tasted copper on his tongue. Smoke filled his head, his nose, choking him out. He ached to cough, to force the shit out of his lungs, but a sudden pressure against his chest stalled the impulse. Words chased the action, but he couldn’t make them out.

_ Tak-tak-tak _ . Gunfire. Where was he? Gabriel twisted his head and felt something warm and sticky on either side of his face, keeping him still. 

The ground beneath him was cold, wet, and shaking. 

The voice phased through him like a warm breeze.  _ “Don’t try to move. You’re doing good. Keep breathing, okay? Just—Gabe? Gabe, please—Gabriel!” _

-

Birdsong lifted over his head. Checkmark shapes swooped through the open sky. The wind was strong enough to shake the palms and tall grasses separating the boardwalk from the beach. Thick white-caps moved on the ocean. A few surfers were out on the water, their laughter carrying down the beach. Frankie fought for his hand, her grip sticky thanks to the popsicle she’d just finished.

The smell of salt and grass came in from the ocean, far more pleasant than the usual stench of Los Angeles. Frankie selected a spot and dragged him to it, instructing him where to put his towel.

The rest of his family lingered somewhere behind, probably still arguing with Bianca over her back to school shopping list or trying to lug the big cooler out of the back of the Jeep.

Frankie didn’t have a patient bone in her body and it had been his job to chase her down the boardwalk. Some things never changed.

“Keep still,” Gabriel grunted, smearing sunscreen onto her nose with a thumb. “Or you’re gonna miss a few spots and look funny on picture day.”

“Gabi,  _ please, _ ” Frankie huffed, rolling her big brown eyes, “I’m big enough now to take care of myself. Any mistakes I make—”

“Are yours, yeah yeah,” Gabriel finished their mother’s favorite phrase. Frankie snorted. "You want a preview?"

"Yeah!"

Gabriel dragged Frankie into his armpit and snapped a picture on his phone. They both looked ridiculous thanks to the globs of white. He set his phone aside and reached out to grab Frankie's wrist before she could dart away.

“Listen up, squirt. I don’t want you in the water today.”

“What!”

“Here.” He wrestled his old Dodgers baseball cap onto Frankie’s head despite her murmured protests and shoved a bucket filled with tools and a water gun into her hands. “You know I can’t go in the water to save your butt if something happens. Okay?”

Frankie heaved a sigh, reluctantly plucking the toys from his hands. “I’m too old for this stuff you know.”

“You’re  _ nine _ .”

Frankie conceded with an artfully drawn out sigh and plopped down on her towel, humming a little song she only sang when she was annoyed. Gabriel grinned to himself, reaching into his bag for his half-finished novel. Nothing like a long, slow day at the beach at the end of the summer. Classes started soon and he was already finished his reading, as usual. A few weeks on bedrest had given him ample time, even if it had chewed up most of his social life. Too bad his top surgery had been pushed back; he’d planned it early to avoid going to class while recovering. Some things just didn’t pan out. He’d make it work.

The roar of the waves and the tussle of the wind in his hair always helped him to focus, to put the world in perspective. So close to the ocean time was warped and strange. The sun on his skin felt good. Right. Like all the healing he needed could be found right there, in the late days of August, with the Pacific on his side.

Frankie got bored before he finished his chapter and flopped onto her belly, grinning up at him. She prodded him in the side until he set the book down. 

“What?”

“Can I read?”

“It’s not for kids.”

Frankie stuck out her bottom lip. “Please?”

Gabriel turned the book around and gave her a second to try to absorb the title. Her eyes tracked over the big, ugly font painfully slowly. She was a master with numbers and could build damn robots out of the shit they chucked in the recycling, but English had never been her strong suit.

“What’s  _ bee-reeve-ment _ mean?”

“It’s a fancy word for grief,” Gabriel said, “After a family member dies.”

A lump rose in his throat. Ten months and counting. He forced a smile and set the book down at his side. He distracted himself from Frankie’s worried frown by tugging the hat down over her face. “You still doing okay, Frankenstein?”

Little fingers fought at his hands as he rustled the cap over her curls. She rolled away to escape, tossing the cap into the sand. 

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Frankie went back to her usual annoying tactic of kicking him in the stomach but stopped when he gently reminded her he was still recovering. Drawing back, her expression shifted from easy playfulness to thoughtfulness. “I know you really miss him, Gabi. Me too.”

“You wanna read it together?”

Frankie nodded. Gabriel pulled himself up to sit-cross legged. Frankie leaned on his shoulder, her long hair tickling his neck. She placed his hat back on her head and plucked off his sunglasses, sticking them lopsided on her nose. Her giggling was soon drowned out by the roar of a jet inbound for LAX, its underside shining silver against the hazy blue sky.

-

 

The reek of fuel stung against his nose. Distantly, he wondered if that was the source of the thick, heavy smoke that had settled in his throat. Something laid against his chest. It was cold; he could detect that much, but couldn’t feel the burn of it.

_ “He’s breathing, Jack, you need to stop—” _

Jack. The name was warm in his head, swimming in the inky blackness like a flame. The pressure on his chest lightened. Something soft and human touched his face, trailing along his cheek. He focused on the faint signal, his body too useless to do anything about it.

Two voices warped together, one grating, the other panicked. A third was low and deep near his head.  _ “He’s stable. I’ll cover you. Get him the hell out of here. I’ll take care of this, Morrison.” _

_ “I’m not leaving him—” _

The rest blurred together in the shallows of his head. A deep, pounding bass echoed through his skull. Gabriel realized it was his own heartbeat. Too slow. Falling.

-

Bianca found their spot in the sand before he caught sight of their parents, each holding one handle of the massive cooler his father had insisted on packing. Frankie rolled away from his side with a whoop and ran in circles around them.

She definitely took after Ayanna  González : same wide grin, same dimpled cheeks, same tight black curls and rich brown skin. Frankie would grow up to be just as tall as her, too. Gabriel had taken after his father, both short and stocky with brown hair that fell in loose waves. 

Bianca pulled out her phone before collapsing into the sand with a sigh. “Hey, bro,” she muttered, throwing a light punch at his shoulder. “You look like you’ve gotta fart.”

He tossed his book at her. She leveled him with a cold stare as she plucked it off her chin, glancing at the title. “Gabi, I think you’ve cleaned out the self-help section at the library by now.”

“Stop teasing your brother.” His father grunted as he lowered himself to sit, leaning on the massive cooler. “Creo que me estoy poniendo viejo,” he muttered under his breath. “Anyone want a soda?”

“You  _ are _ old,  Andrés . Cherry.” his mother said, holding out her hand. His father took it instead to kiss her knuckles. 

Gabriel jerked his head away with a groan. Bianca shot him a weathered look.

“Can I go swimming now?” Frankie hopped up and down, grinning from ear to ear. “Gabi said I couldn’t until you got here and now you’re here so can I—”

“Sure, sure,” his mother said, “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

He followed Frankie away from the towels, each armed with a can of soda. The wind picked up and played through his hair. Frankie kept spitting curls out of her mouth. The moment her little feet hit the water his stomach lurched. Gabriel tightened his grip on her hand and walked along with his toes in the damp sand. The water was cold for August. Frankie shrieked when it lapped over her ankles and scooted back up into the dry sand, giggling, before braving it once again.

Gabriel waved to some of the surfers—old classmates—as they headed down the beach, Frankie swinging their entwined hands. 

Frankie pulled him away from the shore and up the beach toward a snack shack, armed with a bored-looking employee. She swung up into one of the barstools and smacked her sticky hands down on the counter. “I demand sustenance!”

The worker visibly flinched. “Uh,” they muttered, “You want...what?”

“Frankie, Pa brought snacks,” Gabriel grunted. He picked up Frankie under her armpits and lifted her out of the seat. She squirmed in his grip. The worker simply lifted a brow and turned away like the scene was nothing new. Gabriel dropped her in the sand and she took off with a whoop. He ran a hand along his shoulder. Wasn’t supposed to be lifting anything and she wasn’t exactly light, not anymore.

Little twinges of pain rolled up his muscles. Gabriel circled back to the shack and took her abandoned seat, never letting his eyes leave Frankie’s spot by the shore.

The little shack was too familiar. The greasy smell of the deep fryer, the deep hum of a slushie machine. He and Joel used to spend small fortunes there, spoiling themselves and their friends on breaks from surfing and beach volleyball.

Frankie leapt into the waves. Gabriel’s stomach lurched. She waved to him from the surf, splashing back up the beach with a shriek.

“Hey, come on,” he called, “You want something or not?”

Frankie let out a yell and sprinted toward the shack, kicking up a fine dust of sand in her wake. She launched herself into the the seat at his side and yelled for the worker. Gabriel pulled out his wallet and set some money down on the counter, enough for whatever she wanted.

“You sure, Gabi?” Frankie scooped up the money and waved it in his face, grinning. “Pa’s gonna be mad.”

“I’m sure. Go for it, Frankenstein.”

A bit of nostalgia never hurt anyone.

-

He woke slowly, his head filled with shifting sand. Gabriel heard a low groan; he knew it was his because it vibrated through his chest, kicking at his ribs from the inside out. He winced at the sudden flashes of pain through his torso and realized that he was shirtless, with something wet and tacky stuck to his skin.

Gabriel willed his hand to move but there was something firm on either side of his body, locking his right hand against his thigh. His left hand didn’t feel like responding and he gave up on the quest.

_ “You’re gonna be okay. You hear me? Looks bad but...you’re gonna make it, Gabe. We’ve survived worse than this. We’ve—” _

The voice that fought through the clouds in his head was low and soft but frayed at the ends like a rope. It sounded like autumn, somehow, like leaves crunching under beat-up tennis shoes. 

He realized slowly that he was moving, the familiar roll in his stomach making it clear he was in a vehicle. Couldn’t be a helicopter; too damn quiet. A truck, then. He fought to open his eyes but the stubborn things remained closed, ignoring the commands.

He sucked in short, shallow breaths. Attempts to breathe deeper made his chest ache.

The voice dropped to a whisper. He could feel the words in puffs of air against his cheek.  _ “I’m not leaving you, Gabe. I won’t. I can’t...please...stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get through this.” _

Pressure moved across his chest to rest over his heart. Something warm and damp fell against his cheek. The urge to wipe it away was overwhelming.

_ “I can’t lose you—please, just—” _

The sucking blackness in his head distorted the voice to a high-pitched whine. An image flashed through his mind. Strange, cold eyes. Freckles set in a spray across the bridge of his nose. Wide shoulders and calloused fingers, knuckles covered in tiny white scars. Jack.  _ His _ Jack.

Gabriel poured all of his strength past the fog to open his eyes and stared up at a blurry image of Jack Morrison, upside-down, darkened blood congealed across his temple, ash and dirt smeared across his skin. His eyes were clenched shut and leaking tears. Gabriel heaved a breath and tried to speak, but it came out more like a groan. “Hey, Farm Boy.”

Jack’s eyes snapped open, bright but unfocused. Blue swam in front of Gabriel’s eyes. “Gabe.” Jack choked on his name, a sob and half of a laugh rolling out of his throat. “Gabe, you’re—thank God—” Words strangled and died on his tongue. His mouth cracked into a smile. Warm hands moved over Gabriel’s face, wet and sticky with what had to be blood, but Gabriel wouldn’t complain. “Listen, okay?” Jack whispered, “Don’t try to move.”

Gabriel ignored the command, fighting for his right hand to respond. Slowly, he brought it up to rest on the leg pressed against his side. Small, but it would do. “You look like shit.” His voice was weak, frayed. Gabriel sucked in a breath that wouldn’t settle. His ribs creaked and groaned. Shit. Broken.

Rain fell against his skin, but Jack was smiling. Warmth settled over Gabriel’s body in slow, lazy waves. He let his eyes close. 

“Gabe—”

“Tired,” he muttered. “Just tired.”

The truck lurched. Gabriel let out a pained hiss through his teeth. Jack winced above him, pulling a hand off Gabriel’s face to rest over his torso.

Gabriel craned his head despite orders. His stomach twisted. 

Jack’s parka was unzipped. His light flex armor was riddled with holes. Jack’s hand couldn’t hide the red, sticky mess.

“Fuck, Jack,” Gabriel said. He tried to pull himself up but Jack’s hands moved to his head, keeping him still. “You just trying to tough it out? Who’s driving? Pull the goddamn truck over, I’ll—”

“Hey!” Jack hissed. Hands moved to his shoulders, pushing him down. “You need to stay still, Gabe. Don’t worry about me.”

Gabriel bucked up against him, but he was weak and had no energy to try again after failing. With a groan, he reached up for Jack’s hands, scrambling for his grip. “Fuck that,” he grunted, “Like hell I won’t. You’re a goddamn mess.”

A low laugh echoed from the front seat. Gabriel couldn’t see who it was behind the hood.

“This is funny to you?” Jack snapped. There was an edge to his voice but no venom, just low notes of exhaustion.

“Funny!” Olsen’s voice. Gabriel’s gut lurched. “What good is more fighting gonna do us?” A panicked edge lifted in her voice. She chattered in low Spanish. Jack shot back a response that blurred in his head. 

The truck veered to the right. The hands on Gabriel’s shoulders pushed down. Jack stopped mid-sentence and let out a sigh that turned into a shuddering groan.

“You okay?” 

What a fucking useless question, but he couldn’t manage anything more eloquent. 

Jack shifted backwards, leaning his head against the window. A pained grimace flashed across his strong features. “Fine,” he mumbled, “Not fatal. Just...unpleasant.”

Fatal. If there was ever a word that could single-handedly ramp him up into overdrive, that was it.

Gabriel’s heart kicked up pace. He balled his hands into fists at his sides and willed himself to calm down, to just fucking _stop_ _thinking_ before he imagined the flash of headlights and the sound of a car door slamming shut.

A hand moved over his brow, rough callouses shifting through his hair. 

Instead of landing back on a quiet Los Angeles street in the dead of night he was at their facility with a low electric hum in his ears and Jack behind him, chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. He relaxed, eyes shut, focused on the soft touch of Jack’s warm hands.

“Hey, Jack?” Gabriel’s voice came out as little more than a  whisper. Small jolts of pain rippled up his chest, settling along his collarbone. Bruises, maybe. “...We’re gonna be okay,” he managed with a grunt. “This is…” Gabriel grit his teeth. “Nothing.”

Jack smoothed a hand over his brow. He leaned down over Gabriel, wearing a grimace that was trying to be a smile. “You really trying to reassure _ me  _ right now?”

“Jack, I—”

Too soon. Gabriel bit down on his tongue. His chest ached from the inside out, like his heart was swollen. Too soon, but he might—it wasn’t an impossible thought given the sheer amount of blood in the backseat of the van or the distant throbbing that he was starting to feel. Injections had dulled his pain response, but his lethargy made the situation clear. 

He could die without ever seeing his family again.

Without ever getting to say that—

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jack whispered. Thumbs moved across Gabriel’s cheekbones, smearing something wet. He couldn’t remember crying. “We’re almost there. Just keep breathing and we’ll make it. You hear me? This isn’t—this isn’t the end of it, Gabe. Please, just—” a sob broke through Jack’s words. “We’re gonna live through this and we’re gonna have that house down the street from your parents. You hear me? Everything’s gonna be fine.”

He wanted to believe it. Instead of hope a deep, aching hollowness took hold of his heart.

Gabriel reached up for one of Jack’s hands and laced their fingers together. Jack’s grip was tight and shaking.

“I’ve got you, Gabe.”

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t muster any strength from his lungs. The ache in his chest burned with every shallow breath.

Jack leaned over him, his shadow swallowing Gabriel whole. “We get out of this, I’ll make you a promise, okay? You said it was boring, but—” Jack paused, sucking in a harsh, rattling breath. “Every goddamn morning, Gabe. I’ll be there. Okay? Remember? Coffee on the porch...please, God, keep fighting, Gabe. Please.”

Jack’s hand tightened around his to the point where it was painful, but Gabriel just squeezed back in response. 

_ God _ , he wanted it. He wanted the simplicity, the gentleness, lazy weekend mornings and warmth that spread under his skin with the smallest of touches. His throat was swollen and clamped down on the words he wanted to say. All he could do was hold Jack’s hand like a lifeline. 

Jack whispered under his breath. Gabriel felt a hand shift through his curls. Warmth bloomed in his chest, tight and aching, at the press of Jack’s trembling mouth against his forehead. A breath rattled in Jack’s throat. “Promise me, Gabe. Please—”

Water swelled around his mind, lapping at the edges and leaving them worn down and useless. Gabriel’s head rang, high-pitched and warped. He felt Jack’s grip on his hand tighten.

“I’m scared, Jack.” He heard the words tumble free and allowed them to settle in the quiet. Every breath became a labor, his chest creaking with each intake.

“Gabriel, listen to me—I’m right here…” Jack’s mouth pressed against his forehead again, soft but firm, before Gabriel felt his cheek settle against his. Jack’s free hand smoothed through his curls. “I’m not leaving you, okay? I’m right here. You’re not—you won’t be—”

Gabriel’s mind was stiff and full of fog, but he was no stranger to the strained notes in Jack’s voice. He’d only seen him so scared twice before. Gabriel tried to will his head to move, to twist to press a kiss to Jack’s freckled cheek.

White edged at the corners of his vision.

_ “You’re not alone, Gabriel.” _

-

Frankie tugged on Gabriel’s sleeve, breaking him away from mindless daydreams of upcoming classes. Her smile was bright as the sun overhead; she was laughing at a joke he’d only half-heard. 

She shrugged and returned to her fries. Gabriel rested his arms on the counter and lowered his head, closing his eyes.

The cool breeze rolled up and over his shoulders and tousled his hair. The tang of salt and grease hung heavy on the air. Bird cries filled the quiet until they were overpowered by the roar of a jet engine. He cracked open an eye and glanced into the pure blue sky, tracking the movement of not just one, but three aircraft in a neat formation.

“Air show today?” he mumbled.

“Not that I heard,” the shack worker grunted. They slipped behind the partition to the kitchen with a solid  _ click _ of a metal latch.

“We should go see one!” Frankie gasped, rocking forward on her seat. “Can we? Will you take me?”

“Sure thing,” Gabriel sighed. He let his head roll back onto his arms. Frankie pushed at his side with little fingers.

“Gabi, look,” she groaned, tugging on his shirt. “Look!”

“Fine, fine.” Gabriel shot upright. The roof of the shack obscured his view and he had to lean out to catch the glint of silver. The crafts were definitely military. He could almost pick out the registrations on their tails. “What’s so exciting?” he grunted.

“They’re flying so close together,” she said, “They have to be drones!”

“What, ‘cause us humans can’t do that? Please. I’ll show you an old Blue Angels video sometime.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.” 

Gabriel pulled the cap down Frankie’s nose just to annoy her. She let out a little puff of a laugh, angling away to fix it over her curls, cussing under her breath. Gabriel raised a brow in response. Often that was enough to do the trick. Frankie straightened, mouth pressed into a line.

“Speaking of angels…do you think he’s one?”

He let out a breath between his teeth. Frankie was young but sometimes he forgot how differently she saw the world. He hadn’t been much different at her age. Still wasn’t, he supposed.

He closed his eyes. For a fleeting second Joel was sitting on the stool beside him, wearing the trademark Reyes grin. Everyone had always said they looked like brothers. Acted like it, too.

If he were there, he’d be cracking jokes about the surfer who just fell off his board in the rough surf or trying to rope Frankie into some kind of trouble. Harmless stuff, really. Almost a year. Gabriel held onto a breath until Frankie jabbed him in the ribs, making him flinch.

“Watch it,” he warned. 

Frankie lifted a brow and smirked back at him. He knew there was no bite to his words. Never would be when it came to family.

“I heard Roberta’s mom say to Mama that you’re…” her mouth pursed into a thoughtful pout. Frankie swung out a foot, kicking him in the shin. 

Gabriel’s gut twisted. He didn’t want to guess at what she had to say. Didn’t want to hear it. “Yeah,” he said, “I think he’s an angel. Or something like it. I don’t have all the answers, you know.”

“You sure act like it all the time.”

“Do not,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to say, Frankie. Hard to know what to believe.”

Frankie settled against his shoulder with a sigh, arms wound around his stomach. “Do you think he’s a ghost?”

“I don’t believe in _ ghosts _ ,” Gabriel grunted.

Frankie gave him a squeeze before popping off the stool and landing softly in the sand. “Well, Bianca says they’re real.” She tugged on his hands, dragging him away from the shack and back towards the shore. “We were watching this movie where—”

“You know better than to listen to half of what Bianca says. She thinks Bigfoot is real.”

“... _ Anyway _ , we were watching this movie where this guy is an angel and comes down to Earth and meets this doctor lady—”

Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks and fixed Frankie with a solid stare. “Bianca and you were watching  _ City of Angels _ ?”

Frankie rolled her eyes and repeated Bianca’s favorite phrase: “It’s a classic.”

“Sure.”

“Do you believe in fate?” Frankie leaned away from him, dragging him off his path toward the ocean. Their parents waved from their spot down the beach. “You know. That everything happens for a reason and nothing is an accident? Because Bianca and I were talking about it. Sounds pretty mean though, don’t you think? If someone’s in charge then they’re not doing a very good job, if you ask me.”

Frankie tugged on his arm. Despite the ache that had already set into his chest he swung her up over his shoulders and raced toward the ocean. Frankie let out an ear piercing shriek when his ankles hit the water. Sticky hands pulled at his face, stretching out his cheeks.

“Don’t you dare do it, Gabi!”

“Can’t help it. Fate.”

He faked out, dropping low enough that the hat fell off Frankie’s head into the surf. Little hands scrambled to find purchase in his clothes. Her shriek turned into quick laughter as he recovered, stalking back toward the shore. 

His Dodgers hat was soaked but Frankie slapped it back on his head with a giggle. 

“Alright, let’s take a break,” he said, pulling his mouth open in a fake yawn. “Feel like a nap.”

“Onward!”

The sun faded. Gabriel glanced up at the underbelly of the three aircraft, now circling back out along the coast. He stopped in the sand, squinting at the numbers on the tails. Black cracks appeared in their bellies. Too far out from the airport to be dropping landing gear. Probably on some kind of training exercise.

His attention was torn away by a distant outburst, followed by the long, shrill scream of a car alarm. A second alarm went off to join it. Frankie clapped her hands over her ears.

He glanced back up at the drones. Something silver glinted against the backdrop of blue.

The roar of water and a gust of wind knocked him and Frankie flat into the sand. Gabriel spat out salty sand and blinked hard to reorient himself. Frankie pushed off his back. Without her weight he was light and useless.

“Get up! Get up!” Sticky hands pulled at his arm and Gabriel obeyed without thinking, lumbering back to his feet. He jerked his head around toward the ocean. His blood froze in his veins. For a long second that felt like hours he stared up at the drones, banking hard to the right now, heading back over the city. Past the edges of the palm trees lining the beach he caught the glint of dozens more. 

He smelled smoke before he saw plumes of black rise above the city. Gut churning, he angled his head down the beach. Bodies were moving away from the water, surfboards and coolers abandoned. Black metal glinted along the shore. They’d dropped something in the water; he realized slowly that it had knocked him off his feet.

Shit. Shit.  _ Shit. _

Frankie’s wail broke him away from paralyzing thoughts. Gabriel forced himself to move, his hand holding Frankie’s firmly. He stumbled face-first into the sand. The back of his right leg exploded with white-hot pain. He reached back and felt blood next to smooth pieces of metal.

Shit.

He couldn’t think, could only move, his chest aching and his leg slowing him down. He scooped Frankie up when she stumbled and made for the shelter of the old beachfront shower facilities.

He was forgetting something, but he couldn’t think, not when smoke was rolling down the streets from the city and the screams were getting louder with every passing second. 

A hand shot out for his free arm. Gabriel whirled around, panic rising like bile in his throat. Serious brown eyes met his.

“Ma,” he croaked, “You’re alive, thank  _ God _ .”

“We have to keep moving,” she said, voice low and calm. The fear in her eyes flickered like a flame until it was replaced with grim determination. “Down the beach,” she directed, “We go into the city we’re—”

She pressed her mouth into a line and shook her head, curls bouncing. “I’ll take her,” she said. 

Gabriel passed Frankie over, mind numb, body useless. He struggled to think. Bombs were falling on Los Angeles.  _ Bombs _ . The shriek of emergency sirens stung his ears. They weren’t at war—hadn’t really been for years—so what the  _ fuck _ was happening?

He followed his mother down the beachfront. Black shapes moved through the sky, angling like birds of prey toward the drones. One blew in a shower of flames and smoke. The roar of jet engines drowned out the noise of people fleeing both in and out of the city.

Behind him, the Santa Monica mountains were red.

He sucked in aching breaths. A dull, fast-paced beep echoed under the tide of noise. He fell to one knee as his mother ran ahead. Frankie, flung over her shoulder, reached out a hand toward him, but he couldn’t hear her, only saw her mouth open in a scream.

Concrete burned against the palms of his hands. He scrambled for purchase, scraping his knees. “Wait!” he called out, “Look out—”

Water rolled up and over his shoulders, forcing him flat against the ground. He lost his mother and Frankie in the spray.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t how it happened; he remembered running until his lungs ached and his injured leg was numb, picking up Frankie when his mother tired three clicks down the beach. They ran until they couldn’t run anymore and found shelter between two houses. He remembered holding Frankie like a lifeline, trying not to cry, trying to stay strong while the reek of smoke rolled down the streets and the scream of fighters and drones filled the air.

No; he hadn’t fallen. Gabriel slowly picked himself up, body shaking from the sudden shock of the cold. Sand flew up in tall geysers on the beachfront. Silver whipped through the sky, desperate to escape its hunter.

None of it was right. 

For a split second the bright blue sky and the roar of engines disappeared. He blinked away at a total inky blackness, his head thick and sticky like it was full of tar. A dull metallic whine rose with the frantic beep of some kind of equipment. Gabriel wrenched open an eye. The California sky was gone, replaced by a the glare of florescent lights.

Mint green moved around him, blurred and slow. Metal glinted under the lights. A second later he was back on the boardwalk, drenched with water, tasting salt on his tongue.

He pulled himself up slowly. The jets moved backwards through a rapidly darkening sky. Smoke rolled back down into the roofs of buildings. Gabriel swept a hand over his brow, wiping water away from his eyes. 

Yellow moved to his right.

Gabriel jerked his head and froze in the grasp of eyes as cold and hard as ice.

Jack laid out in the sand, soaked through, with blood spattered across his forehead and dried in short, scruffy blond hair. Freckles stood out against his skin. His Jack, tall and lanky, but in the same faded blue jeans and yellow shirt he’d worn the first day they’d met.

Just up the street. Gabriel could remember like it had happened only days before.

He blinked and Jack was gone. Gabriel rolled onto his back, staring up at the blackened sky.

The whine of machinery cut off. The electronic beep faded. Murky blackness swam in from of his eyes. He felt it like a physical presence, heavy on his chest.

Distant, he heard an echo that could have been a human voice. 

_ “...one, two scalpels...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven clamps...one, two, three, four…” _

-

Quiet.

Gabriel’s mind was blank and empty when he woke. A low, constant beep sounded by his head. Machine. Not Omnic, that much he could feel sure of. Black pushed against his eyes, heavy and solid. By slow degrees he defrosted to the feel of cotton sheets and a fleece blanket under his palms. 

Light bled against the corner of his eye. He turned his head and his gut churned and twisted in response. His bed could have been on the deck of a ship for all he knew, but he remembered the backseat of a truck instead, with warm breath against his cheek and a hand moving soothingly through his hair.

Soft, diffused light bled from a monitor and angled across a pristine tile floor. He followed it up the walls to where it glinted against a metal rack stuffed with medical supplies. It smoothed over the rest of the room, quieter, duller: a counter and a sink, an IV pole, a round stool sitting in the middle of the floor.

Gabriel let his head roll back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. Weight sank in his bones, anchoring him to the bed. Numb, solid, alive but unfeeling. He could recall the shape of a Predator moving among smoke despite the haze in his mind. Impossible to forget the crush of its claws around his chest and the swimming blackness that followed, cut up by dreams and moments of clarity.

He should have died.

Sounds sharpened, stinging against his ears. The drone of the electrocardiogram. His own breathing and the resulting creak of his ribs. The echo of his heart.

Gabriel pulled a hand to his face and bumped against plastic tubing under his nose. 

He took in a long, experimental breath. 

Nothing.

Huh.

Gabriel balled his hand into a fist. The IV made moving his hand stiff and uncomfortable. In the dark he could swear his skin was moving, black shadows dancing away when he tried to focus on them. 

“...Gabe?”

Gabriel jerked his chin toward the second bed in the room, which he hadn’t realized was  _ occupied. _

“You’re—thank  _ God _ —”

Blankets rustled. A scruffy blond head lifted from a pillow, freckles visible even in the dim light. A smile angled across Jack’s mouth, setting off a chain reaction that stalled Gabriel’s breaths.

“Jack,” Gabriel sighed, “Hey.”

Weak, but he could barely manage more than a smile. 

Jack tossed back the blankets as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed, gown hiked up his thigh. He braced one hand over his stomach and the other on the nightstand.

“The hell are you doing?”

Jack’s bare feet slapped against the floor. He let out a grunt and faltered, catching himself almost a second too late. He smiled, but it was grim, forced. “You’re awake,” he groaned, “Been asleep for…” Jack let out a strained hiss as he righted himself. “Hours. I was worried, Gabe, I thought that…”

Jack’s hand slipped. Gabriel’s heart froze as Jack pitched forward, pulling the IV drip down with him. Metal rang loud against the floor. He recovered fast, cursing under his breath as he righted the pole.

“You trying to wake up everyone else?” 

“Sorry,” Jack muttered. He tugged the drip across the floor behind him, one hand still slung over his stomach. Gabriel didn’t miss the twist in his expression as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Can’t feel much...makes it a little hard to coordinate.”

Jack settled beside him with a sigh. There wasn’t nearly enough room for both of them on the narrow hospital bed, and his feeble attempts to get his body to move to the side yielded no results. Not that he minded the proximity, his warmth, or the smell of him—diluted now, thanks to the stench of chemicals in the room—but Jack shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. Distant, he could remember flex armor riddled with bullet holes.

No way Jack should have been able to get out of bed, let alone pull himself across the floor.

Before he could chastise Jack for the decision he twisted, caught Gabriel’s face in his hands, and dropped down to kiss him. Expectation curled in his gut, only to diffuse a moment later when Jack’s mouth collided with his nose instead.

Jack pulled back, eyes wide, mouth open. “Oh,” he mumbled. Even in the dark, Gabriel could see a deep blush start on his cheeks. 

He grinned at the absurdity of it. Jack was  _ alive  _ and warm and human and  _ right there _ . “Real romantic, Jack.”

“I’m on a lot of painkillers, Gabe.”

His laugh was distorted and strained but Gabriel ached to hear it. Jack’s eyes shone despite the dark circles under them, despite the bandage covering his temple, despite the bruises spread across his skin like constellations.

“Here,” Gabriel whispered, “Let me kiss you  _ correctly _ .”

Jack’s laughter died away but his soft, smooth smile remained. Gabriel ran his thumb over the curve of Jack’s lower lip, breath stuttering when Jack’s eyelashes fluttered low over his cheeks.

Warmth rushed through his veins as their lips met. Jack pressed down against him, tipping his head into the palm of Gabriel’s hand. He worked his fingers through his hair to settle on the back of his neck. The kiss felt clumsy, slow, but he found it hard to care because it was  _ Jack _ . 

He pulled back, smoothing his hand from the back of Jack’s neck to rest under his chin. Jack’s eyes were clear and soft, his mouth turned up in a smile. Gabriel fought to keep breathing steadily.

He could almost see words form and die on Jack’s tongue. His eyes darted away to survey the room, but that little smile remained. Jack settled onto the bed, kicking his legs out and resting his head down on the pillow. His breath pushed against Gabriel’s curls. He let his eyes fall closed as Jack’s hand took his, twining their fingers together. Jack pulled his hand to his mouth, laying kisses across his knuckles.

“You know,” Gabriel mumbled, “Someone’s gonna be suspicious if they walk in on us like this.”

Jack laughed against the palm of his hand. “I’m not worried,” he sighed, “You’re  _ alive.  _ I didn’t know what was going to happen, Gabe. I was so scared—”

His breath shook against Gabriel’s skin. He tightened his grip on Jack’s hand. “Come here.”

Gabriel gathered all his strength to release Jack’s hand and loop his arm around Jack’s shoulders. He moved against Gabriel’s side, resting his head on his shoulder with a soft sigh. Blond hair tickled his jaw. Jack’s hand searched for his, gripping tight.

The dark flowed around him like an entity in its own right, soft against his skin. He let his nose fall into Jack’s hair. Jack’s breathing slowed to an even pace.

His memories came back slowly, sorting together in a line. Hiking over snow-covered hills. Ambushing the hangar. The smoke and the hammer of gunfire against his ears. 

He remembered resting in Jack’s lap in the backseat of a truck, desperate to focus on the sound of his voice.

“Jack?”

“Mmm?” Jack rustled against his shoulder. Gabriel pulled him into the curve of his neck.

“I was thinking...after we move in, we should get a dog.”

Jack stilled. Slowly, he pulled his head from his shoulder, staring down at Gabriel. “What?”

Gabriel stared into eyes like stars and felt his gut clench. He’d almost  _ died. _ He’d almost lost his chance to have that, someday. A soft life away from it all. Something small but good despite it. 

“I’m gonna hold you to your promise, by the way,” he said, “Coffee. Every damn morning.”

Jack’s smile was slow and awkward, but it stole his breath all the same. “Okay,” Jack said, “Yeah. Every morning.”

“One more thing.”

Gabriel kissed him. He let it remain soft, gentle. A promise. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

“For what?” Jack settled down on his shoulder again, squeezing his hand. 

“For…” Gabriel trailed off, biting his tongue. Still too early for the feeling that curled around his heart. He ached to let the words out, but experience told him to stay careful. “...For staying with me,” he managed, voice thick and strained. He forced a smile as he pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “For watching out for me.”

“You never have to be alone. Not as long as I’m here.”

Jack nosed against him, dusting kisses along the curve of his cheek. 

Gabriel flinched under the attention. “Cut that out,” he grunted, voice gruff despite the wide smile stuck on his face. Jack’s laugh tickled against his skin.

“Sorry.” Jack pressed a solid kiss to his cheekbone before he settled again, curled up under Gabriel’s jaw. 

Gabriel relaxed, letting out a breath that rattled in his chest.

Black smoke cleared from his head, leaving behind nothing more than Jack’s even breathing and the electronic chime of the heart monitor.

Safe.

So long as Jack was by his side, he was  _ safe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!  
> Trying to get back to shorter chapters so I can keep my update schedule more or less on track.
> 
> Also, just thought you should know that, yes, Jack's ass is totally hanging free in the last scene. 
> 
> (Thanks to Ash for beta reading, Wade for translations, Andro for medical advice, and my friends for helping me stay positive.)


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of content warnings for this one: mentions of suicide, death, vomiting, very brief dysphoria, and non-graphic referenced child abuse.  
> Heartfelt thanks to Ash (Kerrigore) for beta reading and offering tons of feedback <3

Worry kept him awake despite the weight in his muscles and the fog in his head.

Jack slept on his shoulder, warm breath playing against his neck. Their hands laid entwined on Gabriel’s stomach, Jack’s grip lax. Gabriel rubbed his thumb along half-healed cuts and faded bruises, aching to kiss them better. He wouldn’t wake him. In sleep, Jack was peaceful and still, no trace of worry or fatigue written under his eyes or etched into the fine lines on his brow. In the quiet, the only noise the machines and distant voices down the hall, he could make out every labored breath, hear creaking ribs.

At any moment Gabriel knew a nurse or a tech could come down the hall and catch Jack in his bed. If word got back to someone like Deschamps...Gabriel let the thought turn to ash. She was leaving. She  _ had _ to be. He’d find solid evidence if Castillo couldn’t.

Gabriel studied Jack’s knuckles. In the dark his skin was washed blue, Jack’s gray. He closed his eyes and focused on their loosely synced breathing, but the waters of sleep pushed him back up on shore, and Gabriel surrendered without a fight.

Jack shifted further into the crook of his arm with a sigh, his nose pressed against Gabriel’s collarbone. The pace of his breathing didn’t change. Still asleep. Gabriel adjusted the arm wound around him to soothe a hand down his back, pausing to trace along vertebrae and hardened muscles. His fingers caught the edge of a raised ridge that had to be a scar, settled on his lower back above his hip. He’d have to ask about it.

Gabriel dragged his eyes to the clock on the wall. 0330h. 

The grip on his hand tightened. Jack drew in a long, rattling breath, shifting against his side to pull his head away and rest it on the pillow. Awake, if barely; his eyes were screwed shut and his mouth drawn into a frown. Gabriel released his hand to work fingers through fine blond hair, entranced as the strands flopped back down into their original position, unperturbed. Jack let out an annoyed grunt. Gabriel let his hand settle on the back of his neck.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“Mmm,” Jack grumbled. He twisted away and jolted upright as he almost tipped off the bed, one hand tight on the railing. “Sunshine, huh? That’s a new one.”

“Don’t like it?”

Jack flopped back on the pillow with a loud, exasperated huff. “Why am I only allowed to give you the one?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes at Jack’s tightly wound expression. “Lay them on me, Farm Boy. Let’s see what you’ve got stocked up.”

Jack considered for a moment, lip caught between his teeth, before his mouth pulled into a frown and he flopped back down on the pillow with a grunt. 

“You’ve got nothing.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered. He rolled onto his side to face Gabriel, looking thoroughly displeased with himself. “Sorry. Guess I’m not as creative as you are.”

“Dunno how creative  _ Blondie _ is.”

Jack choked on a laugh, covering his mouth with one hand. Even in the dark Gabriel could catch the glint of brightening spirits in his eyes. He reached for Jack’s stomach and gave him a solid prod in the side below his ribs. Jack lurched away from the touch with a hiss, still grinning even as he settled close to Gabriel’s side, throwing one arm over his stomach.

The laugh petered away. Gabriel pulled his eyes back to the clock on the wall. Jack’s gaze followed.

“You, uh…” Jack pulled his hand back to rest on Gabriel’s sternum, fingers tapping lightly at the bandage hidden beneath his gown. He shifted close, warm and solid, and Gabriel had to force down the urge to move up and kiss him. Jack’s features were straight, serious. Not the time, that much was clear.

Jack kept quiet, eyes hard and distant. Slowly, he pulled his chin around. “Were you having trouble sleeping?”

Something else was on Jack’s mind, but Gabriel accepted the question with a loose shrug. “Got a lot to think about.”

“You need to rest.”

“Was asleep all day.”

Jack stiffened. Gabriel tore his eyes away to study the ceiling panels instead. When Jack spoke, it was with the weight of all the dead air in the room.

“What’s on your mind?”

A thousand things he was better off not thinking about. Gabriel shook his head. “Nothing important.”

Jack held his gaze. In the dark his eyes swam like mercury. “Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. He shook his head again. Part of him wanted to open up and spill old secrets but he was far too tired, far too afraid. He didn’t need Jack’s pity or judgement. Just his presence.

“Don’t want you worrying about me. I’m fine,” he choked out. The rest of his excuses died in his swelling throat.

He hadn’t been strong enough. Fast enough. He hadn’t stopped to think and reassess and he’d gotten his ass kicked. Last thing he needed was Jack thinking the same. Besides, they both had bigger issues to worry about: Deschamps, the remainder of their unit, healing.

Jack didn’t need to hear about any of it. Gabriel didn’t want to think about the dream that had claimed his mind like a fog what felt like mere hours ago.

Gravel crunched under approaching tires. Headlights swung up the side of a white stucco house coated in ivy. Voices died away, replaced by silence that didn’t last after the car came to a stop. Cigarette smoke hung heavy on the air, the taste nothing more than ash on his tongue.

A calloused thumb brushed over his cheek. Gabriel closed his eyes at the touch and sighed when Jack’s hand gently took hold of his face, turning him to stare into deep, silvery eyes. Jack shifted close and angled up to touch his forehead against Gabriel’s, drawing in a deep breath when he finally settled. Eyelashes fluttered low, but his eyes were alive and searching Gabriel’s expression for a tell. He swore he could hear Jack’s voice in his head, reading his thoughts like he was just another paperback.  _ He said he’s fine, he has to be fine. He wouldn’t lie to you...no. He doesn’t lie. He’s too honest. He just doesn’t trust you. He just doesn’t— _

Frenzied, rushed, a direct contradiction to the peaceful expression settled on Jack’s face. Gabriel slid a hand up Jack’s chest, fingertips feeling for the beat of his heart. Solid but fast, like he was panicked.

It wasn’t possible. He was projecting. 

Jack reached up for his hand, his touch soft, hesitant. “You know you can talk to me. About...anything. Or nothing.” Jack’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. When he spoke again his voice was low and thick, wavering on the edges. “But this isn’t nothing. What happened...you’re not alone. I’m here.”

Cigarette smoke swirled up from the stub left pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Through it, the person climbing out of the car was hazy, but there was no mistaking him. He knew Zav’s friends too well, and this one—Ryan—was identifiable from the sway in his shoulders and his wide, unnerving smile. He dragged his boots, hands stuffed into the pockets of his vest. Joel lifted a hand in greeting, wearing his usual Reyes grin.

Fingers moved through his hair. Gabriel let out a breath, closing his eyes to block out the memory. He was in a hospital bed somewhere in Missouri, not on a backstreet in Santa Monica.

“I’m here,” Jack said, quiet, unsure. Gabriel forced his eyes open. Hard mirrors threw his reflection back. Bruises, dark circles, and scars decorated his face. The beard made him look far older than his twenty-two years. His nose still bore the slight discolouration from smacking his head on the dashboard, but his split lip had healed from the fight.

He felt like he’d aged years in the course of a month, and it showed.

Joel would want him to talk about it. If not to Jack, then to Olsen, or the psychiatrist,  _ someone.  _ It was an old path he’d walked before and had thought left behind, but if his dreams of California were any hint, it would come crushing back.

The last time it had happened he was on a mission in Oregon, woken from sleep under the cover of stars with a rifle clenched in shaking hands, sweat beaded on his brow despite the cold. 

“Do you still miss her?”

Jack’s gaze hardened. Gabriel forced himself to hold that heavy stare despite the sudden lurch in his stomach.  _ Idiot. Of course he still misses her, what kind of a way to ask— _

“Every day,” Jack said. His eyes softened and fluttered closed. He shifted on the bed, tangling a hand in Gabriel’s curls. He gently stroked his hair. Otherwise, he was silent and perfectly still. Gabriel studied his features, searching for a tell. 

Gabriel pushed the hand resting over Jack’s heart up to trace along his half-exposed collarbone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I know you were just a kid.”

“Why’re you asking?” Jack’s eyes opened a crack, but there was no defense there, no denial. 

“Thinking,” Gabriel whispered.

He didn’t want to say more. He bit down on his tongue. Jack pulled his hand back to smooth over Gabriel’s forehead.

“You know I’m here for you,” Jack whispered. He swept his hand down Gabriel’s jaw, tracing over the long scar that curved over his cheekbone. Silvery eyes danced away, lost somewhere distant. “Whatever’s on your mind...you can talk to me.”

“I…” Gabriel’s voice came out as little more than a croak. Pathetic. He swallowed hard. “After you lost her—” A good start, but the sudden flare of hurt in Jack’s eyes stopped him cold. 

Jack remained close even as Gabriel felt his body tense under his hands. Slowly, the ice melted. 

He was fighting to remain open. Gabriel felt it in his chest. He had to try, too.

“You lost someone,” Jack said, his voice little more than a wisp of smoke. “Oregon?”

Oregon. Fuck, he could smell pine, feel the light, misting rain against his face. He shook his head. He’d lost good people there. Knowles, MIA. Peters, killed by a landmine. Reeves, suicide. To say he didn’t think about it was a lie. Time hadn’t changed much.

“Yeah,” Gabriel managed. 

Jack’s hand swept back into his hair. Gabriel pushed into the touch, rolling onto his side. His torso twinged with pain and he choked on a groan. Jack gently took him by the shoulders and pushed him back. “Take it easy.”

Jack lifted himself off the pillow, reaching down to tug the blankets over Gabriel’s chest. “Try to keep still, okay? They said it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but—” Jack’s white teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. “—It looked bad, Gabe. Really bad.”

He tore his eyes away before the hurt could show on Jack’s face. “Doesn’t feel that bad,” he grunted.

“Yeah. I know.” Jack’s voice dropped down to a whisper. He patted the IV taped to Gabriel’s elbow. “That’s the drugs talking. And whatever they’ve been pumping into us since June.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. Jack settled down beside him, rocking the bed as he wiggled under the blankets. “You, uh, don’t mind?”

“No.”

Jack settled with a soft grunt. “Feet are cold,” he mumbled, shifting against Gabriel’s side. “Always freezing...doesn’t seem to matter…”

“He got shot.”

Gravel crunched. Zav pulled one hand from his pocket in a wave. Gabriel’s gut churned and he tucked his chin down to hide, but those wolfish eyes caught him. White heat ran through his blood. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He slid out of the car and tossed the butt of his cigarette aside. His cousin was still smiling, but it was forced, now. Zav rocked on the balls of his feet, edgy.

Jack went still. Gabriel couldn’t blame him. He drew in an aching breath.

“My cousin.” Gabriel swallowed. “Joel.”

A thumb brushed close to his eye. Gabriel shivered in the wake of the light touch, but it gave him all the strength he needed. 

“We were seventeen,” he said, “Six months apart. He always...he was like my brother.” Gabriel forced himself to breathe in, counted, let it out. His throat relaxed. “My brother and my best friend.”

He chanced a glance up into Jack’s eyes and shuddered at the weight behind them. 

“I try not to think about it,” he muttered. He was small and pathetic, barely able to put breath behind the words. “Keep dreaming about California. About the Crisis. Oregon, sometimes. I don’t know why—” He stopped cold, shaking his head. Jack’s hand moved to take his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

Warmth spread through his veins at the touch. He could trust Jack. He could talk to him.

“Went through all the steps. Support groups, reading, medication. Talked it out. Cried it out. Tried to focus on it when I didn’t want to. Everyone says that’s better than pushing it down, but—” Gabriel paused to move closer to Jack, bumping their foreheads together again, and closed his eyes. Blackness and nothing more, memories held at bay for the moment. “—I remember every goddamn second. I froze up. I could have done something, but I was so scared, Jack, I—”

“Shh.” Jack moved against his side, one arm sliding under Gabriel’s neck. He curled into the embrace, into the security offered by strong arms, exhaling against the curve of his shoulder. Gabriel worked his fingers into the flimsy hospital robe, clinging to Jack like an anchor.

“Asshole,” Gabriel hissed.

Jack stilled. 

Gabriel pushed himself against Jack, ignoring the twinges of pain that chased his movements, to hide his eyes. His throat threatened to swell shut. Warm tears slicked down his cheeks. He bit down on a sob.

He didn’t need to cry. Just to talk. Just to—

“My cousin had a friend. Zav.” Gabriel tried to focus on the words instead of the cruel shadow that wrapped around his lungs. “Joel saw the best in everyone. Even after we found out Zav was dealing he kept inviting him out with us, even after—” Gabriel bit his tongue. Jack didn’t need to hear it. “He owed this guy money. I don’t know how much.”

Gabriel nestled into the crook of Jack’s neck, breathing in his scent to ground himself. He wasn’t in Santa Monica anymore. He wasn’t seventeen anymore.

“Heard stories, you know,” he croaked, “Never saw anything too rough. Never thought it could happen.”

The black barrel of a handgun appeared from under a sweater following quick accusations between the dealer and Zav. Joel moved faster than Gabriel could.

Two shots. Tires screeched. Gabriel collapsed at Joel’s side, mind blank, his heart frozen. 

“Ambulance was too late. They tried. Did everything they could.”

Jack’s arms tightened around him. A hand moved into his hair, cradling the back of his head.

Gabriel focused on the stretch of Jack’s chest, the sound of their synced breathing, the heat of his body, until the backstreet dripped away and the sirens died down. 

“I’m here,” Jack whispered, “I’m right here.”

Gabriel pulled his hands into fists in Jack’s gown. He couldn’t get close enough. Jack’s arms wound tighter, aching against his ribs. Gabriel pushed him back softly, wearing a smile that felt weak and powerless. “Careful,” he mumbled.

An apologetic grin flashed across Jack’s face. “Sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” Gabriel pulled his shoulders up in a loose shrug. One of Jack’s hands swept down his back, solid, steadying. He let out a deep sigh as he flopped back onto the pillow and untangled his fingers from Jack’s gown. Silvery eyes stared down at him, half-lidded, soft. Gabriel couldn’t hide his smile. 

“I miss him like hell.” Gabriel pulled his eyes away. The clock on the wall served as a distraction. He watched the hands tick toward 0400h. “Does time really make it easier?”

“Sometimes.” Jack shifted, rolling onto his back with a groan. His arm was still stuck underneath Gabriel’s back, his elbow crooked around his waist. He pulled his free hand down his face. “I think, uh...people who say that...I think they just start to forget.”

Forget. Gabriel could blink and see it happen again. He brought his sleeve to his cheek, wiping away quickly drying tears. “Don’t know if I can.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Jack twisted. Gabriel was struck by the seriousness of his expression. Sharp eyes glittered in the dark. The light caught the edge of his strong jaw and highlighted the circles under his eyes. Against skin that was gray in the weird light he could count the bruises that spread across his face.

Jack drew in a shaking breath, one hand moving up to shift through his hair. He clenched his eyes shut for a tense moment. “I tried to run away from it too. I was just a kid. I thought I understood but I didn’t have a fucking clue.” His tone was drawn, bitter, and Gabriel’s gut clenched. “You push it down too hard, it’ll come back just as hard. Or you forget and you can pretend but—that’s a disservice to the dead.” Jack turned his head, catching Gabriel with a strong, determined look that seethed under the surface. “Time doesn’t always change things. Everyone’s different, but—”

_ We’re the same. _

“—I think we’re more alike. You just...you don’t even realize it, do you?”Jack’s voice softened to a whisper, lips curling up into a smile.

“Realize what?”

Jack held his eyes. He brought a hand up to Gabriel’s chin, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip, so soft that Gabriel shivered. “You don’t talk much.”

“Bullshit,” Gabriel grunted. His stomach sank. Something hardened in Jack’s eyes. 

“You care.” Jack’s eyes darted away, smile gone. “You care so much it hurts, but you won’t let anyone in. Not even—”

_ Not even me. _

His heart shuddered to a stop. Cold blood rushed through his veins. He blinked away his shock, half-expecting Jack’s expression to shift back into a slight smile, but he remained stony, serious.

Fuck.

He sat upright, pulling away from the warmth of Jack’s embrace. Cool air traced down his spine. “That’s not true. It’s not. I trust you Jack, I do. You know that.”

“So why won’t you just  _ talk _ to me?” Jack snapped.

Silence. Gabriel twisted his hands into the blankets. 

He couldn’t possibly think that. He couldn’t. Not after everything they’d been through together.

“What do you want me to say?” Gabriel kept his voice low, even. His chest was hollow and aching. “I feel like death is following me. Like it’s  _ waiting _ .” He stared at the strip of light under the door. Easy to feel a presence on the other side.

It was the shape of pine trees, the creep of headlights, rain on a tin roof.

“I keep getting lucky. Walking away from things that should have killed me.” He wiped a hand over his mouth. His fingers shook. Swallowing, Gabriel gathered his nerves. Open. He had to stay open. “I should have gotten shot instead of Joel. Should have been killed when the roof caved. Should have—”

Gone missing instead of Knowles. Stepped on that landmine in Peters’ place. Poisoned himself with pills on base, his body to be found instead of Reeves’—

Gabriel folded over onto his knees despite the hollow ache in his chest, gritting his teeth. No. He didn’t want to die. Fear was alive and thriving under the surface, tamped down by careful thought, compartmentalized and showed away. He didn’t believe in fate, or ghosts, and wasn’t sure about angels, but it felt  _ real _ , despite rationality. Like if he died he could see Joel again and go back to being seventeen, before he was touched by the void death left like little holes in his skin.

He stared hard at the palms of his hands, tracing an old scar that curved from his thumb down to his wrist.

“I don’t know how much it’s gonna take,” he whispered. The silence was overwhelming. He had to fill it if Jack wouldn’t. “This war has taken too many good people, and—” He choked, throat slamming shut. “Why me? Why do  _ I _ get to live? What the fuck am I gonna do to make it right? To—”

He wasn’t making sense, but Gabriel couldn’t stop the stream of words that wound up behind his eyes.

“Maybe you’re right, Jack. About me. And maybe you’re right about us being the same, too. I just...I’m so sick of  _ hurting _ . I’m sick of getting to know people and watching them die. I’m sick of being the man standing at the end of every goddamn battle with his hand on his chest commending the dead. I’m sick of worrying that the people I love are gonna be taken away from me at any goddamn moment.”

A hand brushed over his shoulder. Gabriel fought down the urge to shrug it off. 

“You know, you’re right,” Gabriel whispered. Jack’s palm flattened against his back, moving a slow, wide circle. “I didn’t want to get this close to you. And—”

He’d almost lost Jack. He bit down on his tongue to suppress a sob, fighting back tears.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I trust you. I really do. I mean that.” 

Gabriel twisted around to brave the gravity of Jack’s expression, but what he found was soft and smooth instead. Gentle blue eyes, a slight curved smile. Jack shifted closer, his hand sliding across his shoulders.

His heart hammered. Bile rose in his throat. “I’m a goddamn coward, Jack.” He swallowed hard, balling his hands into fists in his lap. “I’m scared.”

“It’s human to be afraid,” Jack soothed, moving against Gabriel’s back. Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, fingers splaying wide against his chest. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I thought something was wrong, but…”

_ But you never talk about it. _

“That’s not true,” he mumbled. He realized too late that he’d responded to a thought and stiffened, coughing to clear his throat. It was true, anyway; he didn’t let himself  _ think _ about this shit, let alone talk about it. “I…” He paused, chewing on his lip, waiting, hopeful, for Jack to speak. Not such luck. “You were worried?”

He felt Jack nod against his shoulder. His breath fanned over exposed skin. “Olsen and I have been worried for a while, but we both decided you should come to us—”

“Wait.” Gabriel drummed his fingers against the arm wound around his waist, dancing between freckles. He twisted to catch Jack’s eyes for a fleeting moment before his tucked his blond head against his neck. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean...I know you, Gabriel.” Jack pressed a soft kiss to his neck before lifting his head, nose brushing against his cheekbone. “But I don’t  _ know _ you.”

“I hope you heard what you just said.”

Jack laughed, the sound soft, and Gabriel slowly allowed himself to relax. There was no accusation, no hidden meaning. He gripped Jack’s arm, rubbing his thumb along his wrist. 

“I mean, I know you were a lit major in college and you have terrible taste in sports teams—”

“Now’s not the time to start talking shit about the Dodgers.”

“I still think you’d like hockey.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” He shifted in Jack’s arms, twisting around to press a kiss into blond hair. “You’re never getting me into an arena. Too damn cold.”

“What I’m trying to say—” Jack’s tone dropped. Gabriel’s smile faded. “There are a lot of things you never bring up, and questions you let drop, and...I know I’m not one to talk, but I’m working on it. I don’t want to have any secrets from you.”

Gabriel’s gut rolled. He forced a nod, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. “Distance is...easier.”

“Yeah. I know.” Jack leaned against his back, chin digging into his shoulder. He gently rocked, arms squeezing tight. “If you still need time, or space...I can do that. I can be patient. As much as you need. Okay?”

Gabriel let out a sigh, bowing his head. His heart slowed to an even pace. In the comfort of Jack’s arms he could feel his defenses start to melt. He  _ wanted _ to be open. He’d thought about going to Jack when bad dreams woke him, ached to lean on his shoulder and talk about shit that didn’t matter, like what he’d cook if he could, or the plots of the books his nurse had leant him, but it always seemed hard. He could talk about exercise and injections and conspiracies but—

“Okay. What do you wanna know?”

“Huh?”

Gabriel twisted to catch Jack’s perplexed eyes. “I know you’ve got questions. So ask away.”

“So…”

“Whatever you want to know.” 

Jack lifted his head, nose brushing against Gabriel’s. “Let’s start small then,” he whispered, shuffling back across the bed. Without those strong arms wrapped around him, Gabriel felt cold and soon followed. Jack fluffed the pillows before sitting back, arms open for Gabriel to crawl into. Fingers smoothed through his hair and Gabriel let out a deep sigh, contentment slowly replacing the last lingering traces of fear. “Favorite color?”

“Really?”

“Really,” Jack sighed. 

Gabriel leaned back against Jack’s chest, angling up to kiss the underside of his strong, stubbled jaw. “Blue,” he said, quiet. “And I know what you’re thinking. Don’t say it.”

Jack chuckled low, shaking his head. “Mine’s yellow.” He shifted his hands through Gabriel’s curls, toying with the strands. Gabriel certainly didn’t mind. “We used to have a ceramic teapot my mom painted with sunflowers. Broken, now, but...reminds me of home.”

“To be honest, Jack, I thought you were gonna tell me you liked it because it’s the color of corn.”

Jack let out a huff. “Gabriel, I’m serious.”

Gabriel lifted his chin to show his grin. Jack’s mouth curved up to mimic his. 

“Ever think of living outside of LA?”

“You mean if I had the choice? Maybe.” Gabriel closed his eyes as he shifted back onto Jack’s shoulder. “Couple nice places up in the mountain.”

“I’ve always wanted to live on the coast. Great Lakes or the Atlantic.” Jack shifted under him, one leg stretching out for his foot to pop free from the covers. “I always thought it’d be nice to live by the water.”

“Gets loud.”

“I’d probably hate it, then,” Jack mused. “Okay, uh—stupid question.”

Gabriel bit down on a laugh. He pulled one of Jack’s hands away from his hair to curl their fingers together. “Go for it.”

“What do you do for fun?” Jack paused. Gabriel could almost hear the gears in his head turning. “Not  _ here _ , I guess. Before.”

“We’ve talked about that.”

“Sort of,” Jack grunted. 

Gabriel sighed, trying not to let his annoyance show. “You know I like to read.”

“Can’t be the only thing.”

“Love sports.” Gabriel squeezed Jack’s hand. “My ma and I watch baseball together. Sometimes we haul our asses out to the stadium. I used to stream football games on my phone when I didn’t want to pay attention in class. Got in a little trouble for that.” 

“You played too, right?”

“Tried pretty much everything, but I was only ever good at basketball,” Gabriel said, “I was always too short to dunk. Wish we had a hoop so I could give it another shot now that I’m up to 180.”

“You’re taller than that.”

“Maybe.” Gabriel loosened his grip to trace his fingertips along Jack’s knuckles. He could see where Jack’s hands had been cut and split just yesterday, new pink tissue visible even in the dark. Wouldn’t scar. “Gotta say...one thing I won’t complain about is the height. Never  _ dreamed _ I could be tall. Feels…”

Validating. He shook his head, grinning. “Spent a lot of time downtown with my friends. Just wasting time while we could. You know, before we moved off to college and got jobs and…” The war had effectively put a stop to those plans. “I miss it. All the nothing. Worrying about shit like essays and college apps and if Roberta’s crush was gonna make a move or not. Simple stuff. Easy stuff.”

A far cry from where he was now.

Jack stretched his hand out. Gabriel laced their fingers together and let their joined hands settle on his thigh. 

“This really the kind of stuff you wanna know? It’s a lot of nothing,” he muttered. “Probably boring.”

“Boring is the last word I’d use to describe you.”

Gabriel scoffed. “You don’t have to sweet talk me, Morrison. I’m already yours.”

“Hmm.” Jack leaned forward, pulling their entwined hands toward his mouth. Gabriel grinned at the touch of warm lips against his knuckles. “You feeling better?”

Gabriel pushed his spare hand against his chest with a little bit of pressure. Still couldn’t really feel any of it. PRT and injections on top of whatever was in his IV had paid off. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Figured a distraction would help.” 

Jack’s hand rustled through his hair. He couldn’t see it, but he knew Jack was grinning. “Well, thanks. I...actually do feel better.” He blinked away his own surprise. The ache in his chest was gone and it was easier to breathe, his throat lose, his mind burning with other thoughts. “Bit tired.”

“It  _ is _ pretty late,” Jack chuckled, “And you weren’t sleeping.”

“Yeah.”

Jack’s arms wound around his waist and pulled him flush to his chest, his head rolling into the hollow of his throat. A nose pushed into his hair, resting for a second before Jack leaned down to kiss his forehead. Before Gabriel could settle Jack was squirming out from behind him.

Gabriel flopped down on the pillows, reaching for Jack’s arm. “Where’re you going?”

“Well.” Jack faltered before his feet could hit the floor. He remained rigid for a long moment before he twisted around, fixing Gabriel with a confused stare. “Didn’t think you’d want to get caught in the morning. You know...like we talked about.”

Oh. Gabriel pursed his lips, thinking. “Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbled. He pulled himself up on his elbows, shifting to the left of the mattress, and patted the space beside him. “Could you...maybe stay with me until I fall asleep?”

The question left him feeling open, vulnerable, and his heart refused to beat until Jack’s eyes slid over his features, soft but serious. The mattress rocked as Jack climbed back in beside him, pausing to drag the blankets back up over their chests before settling on the pillow, one hand smoothing over Gabriel’s arm.

“Of course,” Jack whispered, “I’ll be right here.”

Gabriel nestled under Jack’s chin, heaving a sigh. “Thank you.”

The last thing he felt before sleep took him was a slight touch against the back of his neck. Warmth bloomed between his bruises and broken ribs, spreading out to his fingers and toes.

-

A flash of light woke him from an uneasy sleep. Gabriel lifted his head from his pillow, fumbling in the dark for the bedside lamp. Rain pattered against the windows. He hit the switch. Nothing.

“Crap,” Gabriel groaned, rolling to his side. “Out again.”

He’d have to get the generator running. Seemed the news had been right about the severity of the storm. The clock on the desk flashed, useless. He slid open the nightstand drawer and searched among worn copies of Hardy Boys books and a pile of loose change for his watch. With it in his grasp he slipped out of bed and knelt by the window to see the face read five in the morning.

Cold settled in his gut. Alarm hadn’t gone off. 

Thunder boomed. It shook and rattled through his bones, sending primal fear racing like a shockwave down his spine. 

He jumped away from the window to the dresser and sat on the floor to pull on his socks. If he didn’t get the generator running before Dad was up he’d be angry, and—he swallowed down the thoughts with a shake of his head. He’d gotten it working before. It wasn’t too hard. He just hadn’t done it on his own in a while and he wasn’t supposed to touch the gas cans. If he was lucky the generator would still be full from the winter outage that had lasted a few hours instead of a few days.

He shucked on a hoodie and padded toward the door, listening hard. The rain drowned out everything. Swallowing, he opened the door as quietly as he could and moved down the hall in the dark, feeling for the railing.

The bottom two steps always creaked. He hadn’t checked to see if Dad had fallen asleep in his chair or upstairs. He skipped them just to be safe and didn’t look back until he hit the mudroom. His yellow coat and boots were tucked away, still covered in dried mud from his last round of chores out in the field. He wiggled into them and slowly unlatched the back door, waiting for a few aching moments to slip outside.

He knew how to keep out of sight of the windows. The steps down to the basement were slick with rain. He hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight. Gabriel balled his hands into fists and covered his face, breathing hard. It was fine. He knew his way. If he went back inside he’d wake Dad up, and Dad had too much to drink, been so  _ loud _ before Mom got to bed, and—

Gabriel moved around the corner of the house. He counted the trees that lined the road. The sky lit up with streaks of white, temporarily rendering everything blank and featureless. He gathered his nerves, turning back toward the bottom of the stairs. Rain swirled around the drain, half clogged with leaves and cut grass. He picked his way down, one hand tight on the rail. The door was never locked. 

The smell of must was overpowering. Gabriel covered his mouth with his sleeve as he moved through the gloom, one hand extended in front of him. The floor was uneven and he kept slow, eyes wide. Traces of light snuck in from the open door behind him. Just enough to see the shape of the generator in the corner.

Dad had flashlights stowed somewhere, but he figured he had enough light and know-how to get it done. 

Thunder boomed. Dust swirled down from the roof and Gabriel coughed, buckling over. Footsteps. His blood ran cold.

_ “John?”  _

Dad’s voice was low, muted by the floorboards between them, but he froze like he had his cold, unfocused eyes stuck on him. Trouble. He was in trouble again. Gabriel bit down on his lip to stifle a whimper.

Gabriel groped through the dark, touching the moisture-slicked walls. Upstairs he could hear Dad’s footsteps as he moved through the house. The bottom steps creaked.

_ “Get up.”  _ Dad’s voice was a slur. Still drunk, then. _ “John? You better not be sleepin’ in.” _

The coop. Gabriel turned on his heel, nearly slipping on the concrete floor, and bolted for the door. His boots sloshed through the puddles on the steps and he fell, catching himself on the railing.

_ “Work won’t wait,” _ Dad’s voice boomed,  _ “John!” _

Gabriel pulled himself up, huffing for breath. The coop was attached to the side of the barn. A hundred meters but the open stretch seemed bigger.

Mom’s voice joined the noise of the rain. She always slept with the window open and it was right above the back steps. 

_ “It’s Sunday. Let him sleep.” _

_ “Don’t tell me what to do. John?” _

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. He could sprint and make it to the coop in time and catch up on his chores before Dad noticed he was gone. He just had to be quick. Steeling himself, he broke out into a run, grass slipping under his feet, rain stinging in his eyes.

Lightning flashed. He heard shouts from the house but didn’t stop until he hit the coop door and flung himself instead, chest heaving for breath. His pajamas were soaked through and he was shaking. He slowly set the latch from the inside.

_ “Where is he?” _

Gabriel moved swiftly through the coop, working on muscle memory, his mind blank. Thunder shook the wooden walls. Rain rattled against the roof. He couldn’t control the shaking in his small hands. No time. Coop was supposed to be cleaned and the chickens fed  _ before _ five. 

_ “John? You out here?” _

Gabriel froze.

He clapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet and fell to the floor. It was Sunday and he was supposed to go to church with Mom and help her run errands but she’d have to do it by herself, now, and who would help her cross the road and push the cart if he wasn’t there?

Gabriel willed himself to get up. Dad was somewhere out near the front of the barn. He still had time. He could try to lie, or maybe make a good excuse and smile. Tell him about the generator. His gut roiled and he bent over, half-prepared to puke. 

Thunder rolled. The rain picked up, hammering against the roof. Gabriel’s cheeks were wet but he wouldn’t admit that he was crying. He had to be stronger. Braver. Face it.

The slam of Dad’s fist against the door stopped his heart cold.

His skin tore at the edges like paper.  Gabriel bit down on a scream as his bones melted, shifted, reshaped. He collapsed on the bottom of the coop, panting for breath.

A little blond boy in a yellow raincoat stared back at him.

_ “John? Open up. Right now.” _

Gabriel scurried to his feet. His stomach lurched like it was full of acid. He wiped a hand over his face. No beard, and—he turned his hand over. His fingernails were painted purple, chipped where he’d chewed them. Small. He realized slowly that he was the same size as the boy in the rain coat. Swallowing hard, he worked to reorient himself.

A dream. A goddamn weird fucking dream if he’d ever had one.

The boy pulled his hands away from his face. His cheeks were coated in freckles and streaked with tears.  _ Jack _ .

It had to be him. Gabriel had seen pictures, but he looked a little younger, maybe eight.

He stretched out on the floor, watching the door rattle in the frame. He was wearing basketball shorts and a pair of untied sneakers with a too-big shirt. Reaching up he tousled his hair. Much too long. He had to be ten or eleven, then.

_ “John, you get out here right now. You hear me?” _

Jack’s eyes darted away to stare at the door. His shoulders shook and his breaths came in short, shallow puffs. 

“Hey,” Gabriel whispered, “It’s okay.” His voice came out light enough to stab into his chest like a knife. He forced a smile despite it. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t him.

Jack lifted his head from between his knees. He blinked slowly. At least he’d stopped crying.

“He can’t hurt you, you know,” Gabriel said. “He’s never gonna be able to hurt you again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Gabriel dragged his eyes back up to the door. The pounding had ceased. Jack’s dad shuffled on the other side, grumbling under his breath. 

Gabriel pulled himself to his feet and offered the boy in the raincoat a hand. Jack simply stared at it, refusing to move.

“You’re just dreaming, Jack,” Gabriel said.

Ridiculous.  _ He _ was dreaming. He forced a smile, shaking his hand. “I’ll show you.”

He listened to the rain and the thunder for many long heartbeats until Jack moved to take his hand. His skin was cold and clammy. Gabriel gave his fingers a squeeze.

They stood in front of the door. Gabriel could feel a presence on the other side but pushed down his fears, knowing they were irrational.

Jack pulled back with a whimper, chin tucked down into his coat. “I don’t wanna go out there,” he murmured, “I’ll wait until he goes back in the house and—” Jack’s mouth screwed up into a pout. 

“Together, okay?”

Jack stared at the latch, his eyes as hard as mirrors. He shook his head sharply. “I can’t do it. I can’t go out there.” He tugged on Gabriel’s hand, pulling them both away from the door, backs to the roosts. “I don’t wanna get hit again.”

“He won’t hurt you.” Gabriel stared into the eyes of  _ his _ Jack, now twenty-one and counting, still in that yellow raincoat and plaid pajamas, hair slicked down by the rain. No longer kids. “You survived this, Jack. It’s in the past.”

Jack held his gaze, eyes wavering. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Gabriel gave his hand a squeeze, moving away from the door. Jack refused to budge. “I’ll be right here with you, Jack.”

_ Like you’ve been for me. _

Jack stepped away from the wall. “Yeah,” he whispered, “Okay. Together.”

They both set their hands on the door.  _ One. Two. Three— _

Thunder cracked as the door swung open. Jack jumped in his skin, letting out a little huff. Nothing. 

“See? It’s okay,” Gabriel soothed, tugging on Jack’s hand to lead him out into the grass. Black swirled along the edges, smudging the grass into the overcast sky. The house was gone. When Gabriel twisted around the barn was gone, too. 

Gabriel looked down at their entwined hands.

Smoke curled around their fingers, thick and black. Jack let out a startled gasp and jumped backwards, breaking contact.

“Gabriel—!”

He doubled over in the grass to empty his guts. Hands hit cold tile. Shaking fingers moved over the floor, palm slick with sweat, ash burning on his knuckles.

“Shit,” Gabriel groaned. The sound came out wrong. His teeth chattered and his jaw ached. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t sick, he was just dreaming.

Something wailed, thin and high-pitched. An alarm, or...Gabriel couldn’t think. Answers danced away from his touch, consumed by the pressing darkness of the room.

Stop. Breathe. Think.

Gabriel spread a trembling hand out to steady himself and pushed himself onto his side, groaning with the effort. Ceiling tiles swam overhead, rippling like water. His stomach churned. Gabriel swallowed down on the urge to vomit, lifting a hand to his sweat-slicked brow.

Blood ran down his wrist.

Promising. He closed his eyes to block it out.

He should be panicking. Gabriel was distantly aware that the deep exhaustion settled in his bones and the liquid weight in his muscles was to blame for the distance. His chest heaved, struggling to catch air. Strange, like it wasn’t his body.

But then again, he’d been in someone else’s just moments before.

This had to be another dream, then.

Gabriel fisted a hand in his gown and bumped against something warm. Eyes snapping open, he stared up into eyes brighter than lightning. The man’s mouth moved but the ringing electronic chimes—now reduced to mush in his head—covered his words.

He lifted his hand, reaching for Jack’s face, but his heart stopped cold.

His hand was a black mass, writhing like clouds had gathered under the surface. 

Fingers closed around his. He tore his attention away before panic could set in and squeezed his eyes shut, determined to focus on breathing.

Old wounds laid opened on the floor.

Light burned against his eyelids. He felt the reverberations of shoes on the floor near his head and then the grasp of new hands on his arms. Words picked up but they remained a mess in his head. 

Focus. Breathe. Think. 

Gabriel twisted to the side, choking on bile that rose in his throat. Hands kept him from rolling back. 

Sweat dripped into his eyes. He felt a pinch and the world cleared, leaving the picture all too clear. The room laid on its side. Techs and nurses in mint green swarmed around him, moving through a black fog with ease. One of them struggled to hold Jack back. Gabriel met his eyes and felt a bolt of fear run through him like electricity. 

Fog closed back in just as fast, warping time and perception. 

_ “Bad reaction. Call Dr. Hale and get the op room ready...” _

_ “...He’s strong. He’ll make it. Help me get him up...” _

_ “Hundred bucks he doesn’t.” _

The floor fled away from his touch. Gabriel landed on something harder, head rolling to the side before it was caught between gloved hands. 

_ “Seventy-six, you come with me. We’ll get you checked out, and—” _

Metal rang out against the floor. Gabriel lurched upright and something snapped in his chest, bright and painful. Hands pushed at his shoulders.

Jack lurched away from a nurse’s grip, his IV pole rolling on the ground. “I won’t leave him,” he cried out, “I can’t!”

The nurse approached him with his hands raised, expression serious, but Gabriel saw a needle glint up his sleeve. “Seventy-six, calm down. He’s fine, he just needs a little—”

The cart rounded the corner and Jack was gone. One of the tech’s patted his arm, searching for a vein, he figured.

“Wait,” he managed, voice weak, “What’s going on?”

The techs avoided his eyes. The cart passed through a set of glass door that sealed behind them with a pneumatic hiss. 

“Wait.  _ Please. _ ” Gabriel poured more strength into his voice, aching to move, but his ruined body refused the command. He couldn’t keep his voice from rising. “Where are you taking me?”

Images flashed through his head, unbidden: smooth concrete walls. Olsen’s laugh bouncing down a hallway lined with heavy steel doors.

A morgue.

His heart hit hard against his bruised and broken ribs. 

“No,” Gabriel yelped, “No! You can’t—” He pitched to the side with a sudden bolt of energy. One of the techs cried out and the cart wheeled to a stop as they scurried around him like flies.

“You’re not taking me down there,” Gabriel hissed. He pulled himself hard to one side. The cart tipped slowly but landed back on its wheels. One of the techs pulled out a needle and Gabriel threw up a shaking fist to block it and he rocked again. The cart gave and crashed to the floor, spilling him back onto cool tile.

_ Thump. _

Gabriel lifted his head. Sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes. Everything was black around the edges but he saw Jack clear as day on the other side of the doors, his fist hitting the glass so hard it spidered.

Three techs landed on his back, holding him down. He held Jack’s gaze, his heart pounding so hard he was sure it was going to give at any moment.

Something pinched under his skin. Fog edged in on his mind, blocking out everything but the taste of acid on his tongue, the cold weight on his shoulders, and the memory of Jack’s hand entwined with his.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: transphobia, implied slurs

Gabriel was sure of three things when he woke: that the room he was in wasn’t a morgue, that he had  _ definitely _ not been dreaming, and that he was wholly alone.

He laid in a stiff bed, nerves overworked by the sensation of scratchy sheets, the touch of a cool draft, and the glare of overhead lights. Movement was stalled by thick cuffs around his ankles and wrists. Flexing, he pulled against them to test their resistance, but his body quickly abandoned the effort and went limp.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. His ears rang despite the utter stillness of the room.

It had to be an operating room, or something close to it. Shiny tiled walls pressed on him from every side. Screens jutted down from the ceiling, every one of them blank. A second bed laid empty. No sound of an ECG or a respirator. He couldn’t feel at his face to see if there were still tubes under his nose.

Left to die, or—

He tipped his head to the left, ignoring the thoughts before they could well up to dangerous levels.

Massive tanks sat against the wall. Shined steel. Clear, empty tubes fed through the walls.

There were no labels or warnings on the tanks to give him an idea of what they might house. Blinking away artificial light, he tore his focus back to the door. Solid metal. He strained to hear but there was nothing to indicate that there was anyone even on the same floor as him, let alone standing out in the hall.

Gut feeling—and the slight damp chill in his bones—told him he was in the basement, like he’d suspected.

Alive among two-hundred bodies frozen in stasis.

Gabriel closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the bed. Lights burned orange against his eyelids. Nothing to be done about it, which meant he had no chance of sleeping.

He balled his hands into fists, pricking short nails into his palms. The sting barely registered.

He jumped at the sound of a metal latch. Heart pounding, he lifted his head to see over his chest. The solid doors swung open to admit a small, frail man.

Dr. Hale greeted him with a thin smile. He shut the door tight and pulled up a stool from the foot of the empty bed. Instead of sitting he simply set down his clipboard and stood back, two full meters between them. Gabriel scoffed, too tired to hide the impulse. He was bound. He couldn’t hurt Dr. Hale if he’d wanted to.

“If you’re here to ask how I’m feeling—” Gabriel ground the words out through his teeth. His voice was dark and smokey, rough in the back of his throat. “—Don’t bother. I’ve got a few questions, doc. You here to answer them or just to give me more cryptic bullshit?”

Dr. Hale simply blinked at him from behind his glasses. With a sigh he shuffled on his feet and pulled the lenses from his nose, tucking them into a pocket. Without the sheen of glass his eyes were small and watery but they lacked malice or ill intent.

“This will not be easy to understand, Mr. Reyes.”

Gabriel let his head fall back with a groan. “More cryptic bullshit, then.”

The doctor rocked on his feet, one brow cocked, clearly unamused. “You’re feeling well enough to sass me. That much is promising,” he said dryly, “I simply do not want you to  _ panic _ . Believe it or not I have your best interests at heart.” He moved backward toward the empty bed to lean against it, arms crossed, fingers tapping on his sleeve. “Which is why I’m still here. I’ve been awake for forty-eight hours.” He rubbed a bloodshot eye, perhaps to punctuate his point, and let out a sigh. “You slept longer than I expected.”

“How long?”

“Five hours, now,” Dr. Hale said, glancing at his watch. “Perhaps that was just exhaustion catching up with you, but I was…” He coughed to clear his throat. “Worried. We all were.”

Gabriel pulled his chin away to stare at the tiled walls. God. Worried? What a fucking crock of shit. Gabriel took in a deep breath and steeled himself, pushing back emotion until his head was clear and empty.

He closed his eyes. The only sound was the doctor’s slight, wheezing breaths, warped by the ringing in his ears.

“Alright.” Gabriel chewed on the words that milled in his head. “What happened?”

Dr. Hale hooked the stool with one foot and dragged it close, sitting down with a huff and jumping back up to sweep the clipboard of it. “You should have died in the field. I’m sure you’re aware of that much.”

Gabriel’s stomach gave a solid, unpleasant squeeze. Yeah. He did know.

“Three shots to the chest, punctured lung, fractured ribs, head trauma…” Dr. Hale marked each injury on a finger. “Bullet missed your heart by an  _ inch _ , Mr. Reyes. That’s incredible luck if I’ve ever seen it.”

Gabriel jerked against the restraints. “Don’t feel lucky,” he sighed, settling back down. No point in getting riled up when he couldn’t so much as scratch an itch.

“I’ve commended Mr. Morrison on his quick thinking to get you back here alive,” Dr. Hale continued, “Despite his own injuries.”

Hands coated in blood. Gabriel would never forget. “Yeah,” he muttered, “Guess he saved my life, huh?”

“He did.” Dr. Hale leaned forward on his elbows, scrutinizing Gabriel with strange, cool eyes. “I was concerned about the state of the serum in your blood. It seemed...ineffective at treating even the smallest injuries.” He wheeled across the floor, coming close enough to brush a finger over Gabriel’s wrist, where an ugly scar had once sat on his skin. Now, it was barely more than a scratch. “It was enough to help keep you alive, but…”

Dr. Hale’s pale eyes flicked back toward the door. He sat in silence, simply watching. Gabriel strained to hear if there was anyone on the other side.

After many long beats Dr. Hale plucked a device from his ear and set it on the bed.

“I had to do something more. You would have died in surgery, otherwise.”

_ Something more. _ Gabriel chewed on his tongue, searching for something to say. Anything.

Dr. Hale beat him to it.

“It felt like an easy choice at the time. Even if you had died...I would have been able to say that I had done everything in my power to save you. But now here you are, a survivor.” He sat back, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “Suppose I should have expected as much, given your history.”

“Dr. Hale…”

“You are partially aware of what’s happened here.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “Few hundred died.”

“Two-hundred and thirty-six subjects,” Dr. Hale said, “A staggering number. All soldiers, all trained and able-bodied and resilient. Every last one at the peak of health. As you know I was in change of intake here a year back. I knew that what the program wanted to achieve was the stuff of science-fiction, but...I wanted to try. I  _ needed _ to try. Anything to stop this war. I told myself that over and over until it became the only thing that mattered. I should have known something was wrong the moment the correspondence stopped.”

Gabriel rolled his hands into loose fists. The cuffs were ice cold and grated against his sensitive skin. “What did you do?”

Dr. Hale lifted his eyes to hold his gaze, jaw set. “Omnics have a great advantage on us. They don’t feel pain, they don’t need to rest, they can  _ literally _ be replaced—”

“What did you  _ do _ ?”

“—And they communicate.” Dr. Hale lifted a brow in a silent command for him to shut up. Gabriel ground his teeth. “Instantly. They feel the commands of the God program and they can react faster than any human ever could.”

“You’re telling me shit I already know.”

“I’m more than aware.” Dr. Hale’s retort stung, his tone burning with condescension. It made Gabriel’s stomach curl. “It was a pipe dream project. Highly experimental. Prohibitively expensive.” He thumbed at his beard, mouth pursed. “But we got our funding after successful trials with rats, mice, even dogs. Working with humans...it’s complicated. Hence the lawyers.”

Gabriel allowed himself to smirk at the derision in the doctor’s voice.

“Optimism is hard to find these days. We had it in abundance and we got the green light.”

“You’re monologuing.”

“I apologize,” Dr. Hale muttered. He lowered his head into one hand, fingers rubbing at the wrinkles carved deep into his brow. “The program here started slow. Simple serums meant to enhance, perfected nutrition plans, daily exercises for the body and mind. Nothing outlandish, just proven science. And we were thrilled with the results. That was when I left. They pushed the riskier serums forward and...everything looked fine. I heard nothing but good news for weeks.”

“What serum, exactly?” Gabriel tried to sit up, forgetting about the restraints. Shit. “Like that bad round we got back at base?”

“Yes. Like that. But  _ this _ , this is…” Dr. Hale shook his head sharply.

Gabriel’s gut coiled. That round had been  _ bad _ . It had made half of their two-hundred sick, almost killed Jack,  _ had _ killed Perrault.

“Nanites.” Dr. Hale scratched at his beard. Gabriel figured the action was meant to soothe because otherwise the doctor sitting on the stool at his bedside was a livewire. “They’re far from my speciality, but the idea is simple in theory. A system that holds a group of soldiers together. Two soldiers, or twenty soldiers, all part of the same  _ mind _ . Cohesive. Complete.”

The room seemed to cool by degrees. Gabriel swallowed hard. “You wanted to make us machines to fight machines?”

“I understand why you might see it that way.”

Gabriel shook his hair out of his eyes. He ached to wipe away the sheen of sweat on his brow. “How else am I supposed to see it? He asked softly, half-afraid of an answer. “These nanites...you had six-hundred soldiers here in prime physical and mental health—that’s what you said, right?”

Dr. Hale’s eyes scrunched up, but he nodded despite the confusion clear in his weathered features.

“So, what the hell  _ happened _ ?”

Despite his instinct not to trust it, and his gut-wrenching horror at the idea of soldiers all  _ reading _ each other, it was a goddamn good idea. The only way to truly level the playing field. 

Fuck.

“I wasn’t here to see it myself, and the records are...unprofessional, to say the least,” Dr. Hale grumbled, “But...things looked good out of the gate. They sent their two best and brightest in first. Twenty-four hours after injection they were tested and the coordinators gave the go-ahead to carry on with an injection schedule. They were hopeful, you understand, that they could send units out as early as last summer.” He paused to shift on the stool, clipboard tucked into his lap, fingers drumming against paper. “They got sick at the seventy-two hour mark.”

Dr. Hale fell silent. A grave expression settled across his thin mouth. “It was a good idea,” he croaked, “A fantastic idea. We could have faced off against the Omnics equal to them in every way. Almost a thousand soldiers primed for combat.  _ Made _ for it.”

“Would have been one for the history books.”

Gabriel let his head roll back to study the ceiling. Flat. Expressionless. His heart thudded in his chest but he refused to give into his impending panic.

No. He was stronger. He’d faced death before, he was strong enough to do it again.

“We weren’t sure we could save you, so I made the call,” Dr. Hale said. “I’m terribly sorry, Gabriel. I do hope you survive, but then…” His eyes glazed over. Dr. Hale reached for his abandoned earpiece. “That is another ethical matter entirely.”

Before Gabriel could ask for clarification Dr. Hale slipped the device onto his ear and tipped his head like he was listening. After a moment, eyes focused on the door, he nodded. “Glad to hear it. Bring him to recovery three.”

Another pause. His brow drew tight. “I am aware. Bring him down.”

Gabriel’s heart slowed. Acid rose up the back of his throat. “That’s…” He swallowed. His throat was dry and parched. “He’s okay?”

Dr. Hale sat back, one leg folded over his knee, grinning wryly. “Mr. Morrison broke through a sealed door and put eight techs in the infirmary before they managed to sedate him,” he chuckled, “But he tore his stitches in the process. He’s just woken up from surgery.”

“He broke through a  _ door _ ?”

“Super soldiers,” Dr. Hale sighed, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Two-inch thick glass. Though...there’s something you should know.”

Gabriel’s gut churned. He could practically read the words in Dr. Hale’s sullen eyes.

“His injury wasn’t fatal.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Dr. Hale got up with a groan to start unlatching his ankles. The metal snapped like a rubber band against his nerves. “I will bear the burden of making the call for you, Gabriel, but I bear no responsibility for what happened to Mr. Morrison. Olivia caught wind of what I was going to do, and...she has surprising clout here. She made that call.”

“Just the two of us?”

“At the moment.” Dr. Hale unlatched his wrists and Gabriel sat up, rubbing at raw skin. The doctor returned to the stool, pushing back to give him some space. “If you pass on, then you will be nothing more than a number to them. The program will be terminated and the living here will go back to the front lines slightly stronger from when they left.” Mouth pursed, Dr. Hale seemed to think of something and flipped through his clipboard. “If you and Mr. Morrison both survive...you’ll be tested. And if there’s any hope that this project can continue, I assure you it will in spite of the odds.”

-

Recovery three was a short trip down a cool concrete hall. The room was small, dark, and utterly silent. Dr. Hale guided him to a bed and sat in a chair by the door, his eyes distant, until the door creaked open to admit a nurse. 

Wheels squeaked against the floor. Jack was folded over in a chair, eyes glazed, unfocused. His skin was paler than normal and the circles under his eyes had deepened, but for all accounts he looked well. The nurse moved between them, muttering something under her breath.

“Everything went okay?” Dr. Hale asked.

The tech looked at Gabriel for a long, piercing moment—her eyes were as clear as glass and just as sharp—before turning to Dr. Hale with a tight smile. “You try keeping him still longer than a minute.”

Jack lifted his head to grin at the tech. “I won’t be any trouble.”

She scoffed, barely glancing back at him. “Keep an eye on him.”

Gabriel slipped off the bed. Jack’s gaze caught him.

“You feeling fine?” Gabriel made to move around the tech but she stepped to the side, still blocking him. He gave up and settled with his hip against the bed. 

Jack simply grinned at him, eyes soft but unfocused. Whatever they had him on would probably do a better job of keeping him still then he ever could. “Seen better days,” he sighed, “You look good, Gabe.”

Dr. Hale rose from his chair. “I’ll give you both some time. Mr. Morrison,  _ do _ try to listen. A third surgery would be overkill.” Jack smiled back at him, all teeth, almost mocking. “Your unit’s made it back. Ms. Olsen has been asking the other doctors about you, so...I imagine it’s time you got to see each other. If you wish I’ll arrange a visit. But it’s better if this isn’t discussed, of course.”

Dr. Hale turned to the tech. “Give us the room.”

She slipped through the door. Dr. Hale rocked on his heels. “I don’t want to start a panic. If word gets back to the Park Hills subjects, things will not be pleasant. I’m sure they haven’t forgotten.”

“Sure.” Gabriel forced a nod. He could do that. He didn’t want to scare Olsen, anyway. How the hell would that conversation go over?  _ Oh, hey, got my ass out of dodge but I might kick the bucket in a few hours. Nice to know you. _

Jack twitched in his chair. Gabriel wondered if he had broadcast those thoughts.

“Any requests?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, if I’m going to die, I don’t want it to be in a hospital gown.” He curled a fist in the thin fabric for emphasis, drawing a chuckle out of the doctor and a wry smile from Jack. “Don’t suppose there’s a chance I could call home?”

Dr. Hale pursed his mouth. Despite the uncertainty in his eyes he nodded. “I’ll see what strings I can pull.”

When the doctor left silence settled over the room, cold and heavy on his shoulders. With each passing second his heart slowed, leaving him calm and empty. He couldn’t feel a goddamn thing. Not even fear. Perhaps he was dissociating. Maybe it was just survival instinct.

Maybe he could only put death off for so long.

“You’re stuck in your head again.”

Jack was trying to smile, at least. The glint of white teeth against his lips made Gabriel’s heart flutter. With a sigh he pushed away from the bed. “This is a lot to process.”

“Yeah.” Jack nodded slowly. He pushed a hand through his hopelessly messy hair, smile fading. “I thought...I thought we were in the clear, but…”

Jack’s despair rolled from his shoulder like a fog, gone as soon as it came. He sat up straighter, eyes bright and focused. “For what it’s worth, Gabriel—”

“No. Don’t.” 

Jack’s fading smile twisted into a frown. “What?”

“Don’t talk like that.” Despite the drop in his stomach and the weight of death on his shoulders he managed to sound neutral. He didn’t want to hear goodbyes or a confession or to hear aloud Jack’s muddled thoughts. He wanted...Gabriel wasn’t sure what he wanted. He gave his head a shake. “Let me help you into bed.”

“I can get there myself,” Jack mumbled.

Jack let him help, anyway, and Gabriel was quietly glad for the solid contact between them. Whatever they’d pumped Jack full of had rendered him slow and heavy and his head lolled forward onto Gabriel’s shoulder. He let it sit there, sweeping a hand over Jack’s broad shoulders. Fingers tightened around his wrist, weak, shaking. 

He didn’t consider himself an optimist, but when Gabriel pulled back to take Jack’s face in his hands, hope swelled in his chest. 

“Gabriel, I…”

Gabriel shook his head. He could hear thoughts start in Jack’s mind. His heart thudded in his chest. “I know.”

Jack surged forward to kiss him. His lips were cold and his body shaking but Gabriel returned it gladly, one hand braced against Jack’s shoulders to keep him mostly still. 

Fingers wound into his hair. Gabriel moved against his mouth, entranced by the slow, sweet way Jack kissed, alternating between light brushes and deeper, passionate presses, always pulling back before either of them could lose their breath. 

Breaking away, head spinning, Gabriel pushed Jack back against the pillows and leaned forward to bump their foreheads together. Foggy blue eyes stayed locked on his, questioning but patient, tongue held even though Gabriel could  _ see _ worry through his skull.

Their hearts beat in time. Gabriel swept a hand over Jack’s cheek.

“It’s not over,” Gabriel said softly. “We still have time. We’re survivors, Jack.” He swallowed down the bile in his throat and smiled. Somehow, it felt easy, like it was honest. Jack’s face remained neutral, glassy. Gabriel rubbed his thumb over faded freckles. “And even if the worst comes...we’ll be together.”

“Together,” Jack mumbled.

-

The bathroom door was little more than a buffer against an onslaught of music and voices.

Gabriel leaned back against the sink, one hand braced over the stack of clean clothes a nurse had brought him, the other white-knuckled on the lip of the counter. His stomach roiled. There was some food set out on the table but he knew he couldn’t keep it down. Not when he felt so…

Gutted.

The ugly SEP logo glared back at him from a white t-shirt. Gabriel moved his hand to cover it.

Their unit had made it back and most of them were gathered around Jack’s bed, moving from laughter to somber reflection with no warning and back again. Kowalski, Carson, and Lewis kept quieter. Gabriel could practically feel their presence on the other side of the door, the three of them sitting in a line on the edge of his bed. Quiet, like they  _ knew _ something was wrong, or they’d noticed Olsen’s veneer was cracking.

She knew something was off. Gabriel could feel it in his gut.

He left the thoughts on the floor with his discarded gown. He paused with the white shirt over his head, attention caught on the reddened scar that curved down his sternum. It was by far the ugliest of the three scars; the second was etched between his ribs and the third was small and already faded in his side. They would fade like his top surgery scars had. Like they all did. Still, Gabriel ran a hand over the largest, suppressing a shiver before pulling on his armor.

T-shirt. Boxers. Sweatpants. Last, his faded blue UCLA hoodie that didn’t quite fit anymore.

He managed to slip out of Recovery Three and didn’t look back until he was down the hall and had rounded the corner. 

Past endless concrete there was a bit of glass set high up into the walls. The idea of fresh air stuck in his lungs like a knife. A little was all he needed. Some space. Some quiet. A goddamn second to himself to process just what the  _ fuck _ might happen to him at any goddamn moment.

He hit the access door hard and barreled out into a small concrete patio and pounded down a set of stairs coated in salt that crunched under his socks. Down along the edge of the building was a copse of dead trees and a small bubbling ravine. Snow piled up around the trunks, but he wasn’t cold, or simply couldn’t feel it like he could anything else. With a sigh he sat down by the water, mindful of roots and rocks and mud, to fold over and rest his head on his knees.

The fading light told him how little time he had.

He rolled his hands into fists and bit down on his tongue. Death was sour in the back of his throat and heavy on his shoulders. Jack hadn’t asked for any of it but he wore it differently, all talk and smile and weak laughter in the company of friends. The same only stung under Gabriel’s skin. 

It was a best case scenario. He had  _ time _ . Advanced warning. If he got lucky he could call home and say goodbye and he had time to say last words to the people who’d made the SEP bearable. Worst case...worst case he was already dead out in Oregon or buried under rubble in Los Angeles.

He’d been given more time and what did he have to show for it?

Gabriel dropped his face into his hands. 

“Trying to make a run for it?”

Shock rolled up Gabriel’s spine in little jolts that told him he could, in fact, still feel, and reeled around to see Olsen hop down the concrete steps to slip and nearly fall into the ravine. She collected herself with a dignified sweep of her arm, catching her weight on a low-hanging tree branch. Her metal and plastic arm caught the twilight and turned it into gold.

Gabriel shook his head and gestured to the patch of dry ground beside him. “Followed me, huh?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” Olsen groused, “Blondie saw you leave. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep him from chasing after you? Kid’s worried. And…” She trailed off as she sat down with a grunt, stretching long legs out to dangle close to the water’s surface. “...He has a reason to be. Problem is I can’t figure out  _ what. _ You look good. Better than you have in weeks.”

“I  _ just _ got shot.”

“I meant overall.” Olsen gestured with a loose hand. “Before all this. I mean...you know that I know.”

“You could stand to be a little more clear, Tex.”

Olsen leaned back on her hands with a sigh, chin angled up toward the thin canopy of gray clouds that couldn’t hide the receding sun. A slight shiver racked her body but it wasn’t cold. Something strange ran in currents through the air. Maybe it would rain. 

“It’s nice to have someone to lean on. Someone to watch your back. I’m glad you found that.” Olsen shifted her weight to free an arm, jostling his shoulder. “You two are pretty cute.”

“Cute,” Gabriel scoffed. He pulled away from her touch but couldn’t hide his grin. “You didn’t follow me out here to needle me about my romantic life.”

“No.” Olsen scooted across the dirt to land heavily at his side, shoulders brushing. “I just wanted to talk. Make sure you were okay. Not everyday you get shot, and…” Her brow furrowed slowly as her brown eyes hardened to stone. “And you’re walking around like you weren’t just enroute to the morgue.”

Gabriel jerked his chin away and studied the rippling creek. He felt her hard eyes boring into his skull. He wouldn’t be able to squeeze his way out of an explanation. Olsen had the gift of being able to pick up on the smallest hints and he was good at hiding what he felt but not  _ that _ good. 

Did she know he’d actually been there?

He closed his eyes and pinched his nose between two fingers. Pain pricked up under his nails. Just enough to tell him he was still alive, still breathing. 

“You know the name of the game,” he muttered. He swallowed the thick knot in his throat. “This just might be the last round.”

Olsen blinked at him slowly, her eyes wide but still hard like solid granite. Shame curled in his gut. He didn’t want her to worry, but he didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to hide from the people he loved when he had no idea how much time he had left.

He leaned into Olsen. “Dr. Hale pulled a stunt, and...Jack and I are paying the price for it.”

“A stunt?” Olsen lifted an arm to slide it around his shoulders. He fell into the embrace without hesitation to settle with his head against her neck. She still smelled like snow and, faintly, like aircraft fuel. “Part of the program, or…”

“Used to be.” Gabriel bit down on his tongue. He’d made a promise to keep his mouth shut but he ached to open up, to tell her everything. If anyone could spin some hope of such a shit situation it’d be Olsen. “I should have died out there.”

Olsen forced a nod.

“I remember...waking up,” Gabriel started slow, careful to keep his voice even. Olsen didn’t need to panic. Neither did he. “During the surgery, I think. I just remember green. That awful mint green that makes you feel sick just looking at it. I couldn’t feel anything except...it wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t right.” He lifted a hand. He couldn’t see the black smoke that had flaked off from his skin. Maybe he’d just imagined it. “What they did to me saved my life but it was  _ wrong _ .”

Olsen’s hand curled into his sweater. Her grip was shaking. “Gabriel,” she whispered, “What do you mean, it was wrong?”

“You ever wonder just  _ what _ killed all the people down in the basements?”

Fear flickered in her eyes like an ember but soon burned out. Olsen turned toward the water, teeth caught on the edge of her lip. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said hoarsely, “I can put it together.”

She wavered on the edge of more words, her fist shaking on his shoulder. Like a dam breaking her resolve crumbled away leaving her voice raw and powerless. “...Are you in pain?”

“No.” He breathed out the word and let it hang over the water. “Kinda wish I was, then…” Then he’d have a better idea of how bad it might get. If it came fast and sudden, then…

He wouldn’t have any warning.

He sat back to watch the clouds. It smelled like rain. “You know,” he muttered, “I came out here to  _ not _ think about it.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Olsen shifted closer, her weary smile bright in the weak light. “Okay. Distraction. Got it. Uh, what’s your favorite Beyoncé album?”

“Lemonade. What kind of question is that?”

Olsen scoffed. “Should have figured. Bday, though, that was  _ iconic _ —”

“Of course you’d think that.”

Olsen jostled him under her hand. “What’s your favorite track, huh? Daddy Lessons? Sorry?”

“Pray You Catch Me.”

“God,” Olsen sighed. She leaned heavy on his shoulder, humming under her breath as she adjusted into the crook of his neck, her untied hair tickling his cheek. “You’re kinda a romantic. Mushy at heart.” She jabbed at his sternum and he pulled back, which only made her laugh, the sound brighter than the setting sun. “I’m just gonna come out and say it, in case I...In case I can’t later. I love you, kid. I’m glad we got to be family, at least for a little while.”

Gabriel stretched back to loop an arm over her shoulders to pull her flush. She shook like a leaf in his arms but her breathing remained steady. He twisted a hand absently in her thick curls. “Who’s the sap now?”

“Jokes on both of us,” Olsen mumbled.

“Guess so.”

Olsen fell silent. Gabriel didn’t mind the quiet. The smell of snow and ice and leaves wrapped around him, strange but comforting, the cool air soft in his lungs. With nothing else but the murmur of the ravine and the breeze through creaking boughs he could have fallen asleep but his mind was clear and awake, his thoughts sharpened to fine edges.

“I love you too, you know,” Gabriel said, “Without you…”

It wouldn’t have been the same. Loneliness or bitterness might have eaten him alive. 

“Without you, I wouldn’t have made it this far. So...thanks. For everything.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. Olsen slowly lifted off his shoulder, her brown eyes soft and serene. “I’m not great with goodbyes,” he said, “Not always great with words, either.”

“I know the feeling.” Olsen stroked a hand down his back. Normally he might have pulled away but instead he pushed back against her palm. “So.” Olsen shifted to sit cross legged, her free hand curled into a fist on her thigh. It wasn’t shaking anymore. “Listen. If today was your last day...what would you want to do?”

Gabriel let his head roll back to stare in the bare trees. There was nothing past the bits of snow and dead grass to catch his interest. Nothing but the monolithic building behind them and the water at their feet. 

“Not much to do out here,” he mumbled.

“Doesn’t matter. We can make something happen. Okay?” She shook his shoulder before hauling herself back to her feet and offering him a hand. 

He let her help him back to his feet but lingered behind the door, his focus caught on the last shreds of orange light that painted the ravine and reflected in the facility’s tall windows.

“Sun’s going down,” he murmured, “Too bad it’s overcast.”

Olsen walked away from the door to hover by his side. She scrutinized the clouds with narrowed eyes being letting out a huff. “Might clear up. Why?”

“When Jack and I were in Indiana the moon was out, and the sky was almost clear,” he said, “Too bright to really see any stars.”

Olsen leaned over the patio railing at his side, one hand tucked under her chin. She surveyed him with open eyes, her smile faint, but he couldn’t help but smile back. “You never told me anything about that night.”

“Yeah. I know.” He stared at the dead trees that lined the ravine. Spring might be beautiful in such a place but it could never rival home, dim and busy and gray as it was. “It was like...the second that car door closed the whole world shifted and time just  _ stopped _ . There was nothing but me and him out there in the fields.”

Gabriel stared down at his hands. His skin was broken and cracked along the knuckles and the long scar on his right palm seemed brighter in the fading light. He closed his eyes and imagined the inside of the truck: the rich smell of leather, the frosted windshield, the dim glow of the dashboard. Jack’s presence hovering just a breath away from him, warm and solid, a wall still settled between them.

“I used to watch the stars when I couldn’t sleep,” Gabriel said, “Just...sit out in the forests with no cities and no people and feel like I was alone under the weight of them. Never could see much of them back in L.A. I’d like to see them again.”

Maybe time could stop a second time.

Olsen’s hand landed on his shoulder with a soft thump. “Okay,” she whispered, “I’ll figure something out.”

-

Gabriel stayed in the ravine with Olsen until the last scraps of orange light bled back into the hills. Words caught in his throat like sandpaper. All he could do was listen to Olsen and nod at the right cues, his thoughts elsewhere.

If he could do anything…

He’d ask to go home. But that wasn’t an option.

“I need to see him,” Gabriel said, interrupting Olsen in the midst of a jab directed at Jack. “I asked if I could call home, and…”

She dragged him back into the building without another word. His mind spun out around him. Black chased after him from the other side of the glass windows.

He’d said seventy-two hours. How long had it been?

Halls phased into a mush in his head. If it weren’t for Olsen and her arm around his waist he wouldn’t have been able to find the way. 

His heart beat fast and heavy, every beat slamming against his ribs. 

She didn’t stop until they were at the doors to the medical wing. Olsen knocked on the glass, startling a tech who almost dropped what looked like a urine sample. He didn’t have an office in Park Hills. They’d have to ask where he was, and—

The tech let them in with only a pause, their dark eyes sliding over Gabriel and then back to the floor in a forced nod. They turned on their heel with a flourish, beckoning with one hand. He hadn’t recognized her with the fog in his head, but she looked like the nurse who’d wheeled Jack in a few hours before. Maybe she knew.

“Come on, kid,” Olsen said, “Chin up. Work that big smile of yours.”

Gabriel snorted. “What if the answer is no?”

“Then the answer is no. But it doesn’t hurt to ask nicely.” Olsen tightened her grip around his waist to pull up more of his weight. Silently he thanked her. “Besides,” she sighed, “Dr. Hale always liked you. If he went through all this trouble to save your life, he might have room for one more favor.”

“I’m not sure what he did counts as a favor to start with.”

Olsen pursed her mouth into a frown. He tried to focus on the door numbers instead. The tech’s white lab coat fluttered around the corner. 

“Maybe not. But it’s his job to save lives, right? Or at least try.”

He bit down on his tongue. Yeah, it was his job, but the lives of hundreds more balanced on a knife’s edge thanks to what he’d done. 

The tech stopped in front of a door. He could hear voices from inside, soft and muted, and the bell-like ring of a woman’s laugh. Frowning, he tried to focus, but it fell silent inside.

“My apologies,” the tech said, “I didn’t realize he was in a meeting. I’ll find you a room to wait and let him know you came by.”

“We don’t have time to wait,” Olsen hissed. 

The tech moved between them and the door. She was taller than Olsen but seemed impossibly small in front of them. “He’s occupied. I don’t think he’ll be too long.”

“Did you hear me?” Olsen took one step and the tech took one back, pressing against the door. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The tech shrunk back, her pupils narrowed to mere dots. She simply raised her hands and turned on her heel. Olsen covered a snicker with her prosthetic hand. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get smug,” Gabriel grunted, “She knows what Dr. Hale did.” She probably felt just as guilty about it, too.

His stomach dropped right to the floor. He slumped in Olsen’s arms and threw out a hand to grab hold of the doorknob. Sweat kept his grip loose. 

“Hey. It’ll be okay,” Olsen soothed. Her hand roved over his shoulders. A small touch, but he breathed out the sickness that rose in his throat. 

Voices on the other side of the door. Olsen’s frame went rigid. A string of curses hissed between her teeth. 

Gabriel turned the handle.

Dim blue light washed over two sallow and exhausted copies of human beings. Dr. Hale straightened to adjust his glasses, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed before letting out a thin, nervous “hello.”

Deschamps, across the desk with her legs folded and one eyebrow cocked, offered nothing but a fake smile.

Fuck.

He froze in the doorway. Olsen gently pushed him inside and pulled the door closed.

“You told me they were both under lock and key.” Deschamps turned away to fix the doctor with her acidic stare. “Bleeding heart. What did you promise him?”

Dr. Hale’s eyes flickered from her to him, then Olsen, weak and watery. He coughed into a fist before shutting down the holoscreen. Blue light bled away. The doctor sat back, his shoulders stiff, anxiety written in the rigid lines of his folded arms. “That you are even here speaking with me is a privilege, Olivia. Do not pretend that you have any authority. Not anymore.”

“I am not the one  _ pretending _ ,” Deschamps hissed back, “Milo has nothing on me. None of you do.” Leaning back, her head rolled around, pale eyes locking on Gabriel. He suppressed a shiver. How the hell could human eyes feel so  _ cold _ ?

“You played a nice little game, Reyes. You thought you had me cornered. But I should thank you, I suppose, for making the final moves so... _ fluid _ .” She gestured with one hand. What it was meant to convey he could only guess. “The higher ups are impressed with the calls I made.”

“The calls  _ Jack _ and I made,” Gabriel hissed.

“Two of my best,” Deschamps snapped, “Don’t forget who  _ made _ you.”

Olsen bristled beside him. Gabriel forced in a breath, pulling his eyes away from Deschamps’. Getting mad wouldn’t solve any of their problems, not now. He hadn’t come to fight with her.

“Doc,” he said as calmly as he could manage, “You said you’d see about pulling some strings for that phone call?”

Dr. Hale’s brow furrowed for a long moment. Deschamps watched him from the corner of her eye with a hunter’s curiosity.

“Right. I, well, I talked to the program Coordinators about it, and…”

Deschamps let out a huff. “You can’t call home. You know better,” she growled, “Thought you were smarter than this.”

Olsen’s hand curved over his bicep, giving him a firm, reassuring squeeze. Gabriel closed his eyes to block out the horrid, smug smile on Deschamps’ face. 

He wouldn’t get angry. She wasn’t worth it.

“I just want to say goodbye,” he whispered, “I haven’t seen my family in three years. They—” They knew he was alive, but he formed the lie around it. “—They probably already think I’m dead, but...if you can’t do it you can’t do it. Just thought it was worth asking for, after everything I’ve given up for this program.”

He searched Deschamps’ face for something. Anything. Any goddamn trace of human emotion would have done. She remained stiff and rigid, like a mere mockery of a person, her lips slowly curving up into a cruel smile.

Dr. Hale rocked forward in his chair. “I can ask again, Gabriel. Perhaps if you saw them in person, let them listen to your plea face to face—”

“You know they won’t risk a security breach,” Deschamps muttered, “Listen, Reyes. Can I call you Gabriel?”

“No.”

A sickening, toothy grin split her red-painted lips. He felt the bite of her words before she even spoke. 

“You are only worth something to us  _ alive _ . Live through the night and you’ll be an asset in the morning.” She slowly rose from her chair, sweeping hands down her pressed shirt. “ _ Assets _ get favors.”

Acid boiled up under his skin. Gabriel clenched his hands into fists that shook half from anger and adrenaline and half from exhaustion. “What good am I to you either way? You’re gonna get thrown out on your ass.”

She pushed away from the desk. Her hips swayed as she walked. Trying too hard. “Actually, _Gabriel_ , now that I’m thinking about it, I should be thanking you.” She stood in front of him, bold, her eyes alive and burning.  “You’ve done me so many favors. The baseless accusations stung, but you and Morrison were _perfect_ in the field. It could not have gone better. Your injury and my colleague’s quick thinking—” Dr. Hale, still seated firmly in his chair, ducked his head down to stare at the floor—“Might alone ensure the survival of this program.”

Deschamps cocked one hip, a perfectly manicured hand sliding into a pocket. “Despite what you think of me personally, I believe that this war must be won at any cost. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Gabriel broke under the weight of her eyes and turned around for the door, partly afraid that the adrenaline stinging under his skin would morph into anger, partly worried he was going to throw up. Olsen’s grip tightened on his arm.

“We’ve done you a service, Gabriel. I hope you can appreciate that one day.”

Fuck.

Gabriel’s head roiled as he whipped back around, stealing the space between him and Deschamps. Fear glinted hard in her eyes as she stumbled backwards. 

“Two-hundred and thirty-six people are  _ dead _ on your watch,” he growled, “Two-hundred and thirty-six people with families and stories and hopes and aspirations and they are all dead because of you.” He jabbed a finger at her chest. She jumped backwards and hit the desk, heels scraping against the floor. “Because you wanted to be a big dog. Because you thought that you could decide who lives and who dies and pocket the profits at the end of the day. People like you have always existed and people like you always get what’s coming.” 

Olsen’s nails pricked into his skin. He tugged his arm out from her grip with a sharp jerk.

“I should have died out there,” he hissed, “And that would have been fine. I would have died honorably, fighting for my country, like I fucking signed up for.” 

He was barely a breath away from Deschamps’ now. He could see himself in her eyes, writhing like smoke from a fire.

“I didn’t ask for this.” 

His features were somber in her pale green eyes. Gabriel pulled back, breathing hard, his knees trembling like they were about to give out. “You tried to save my life. I understand that. That’s your job.” He nodded to Dr. Hale, who refused to meet his gaze. “But Jack? He would have  _ lived _ .”

He could have been Deschamps’ golden boy, like she’d always wanted.

Her eyes darted away. Something solemn flashed in her eyes like dim lightning. 

“If we live through this.” Gabriel paused to lick his lips. His throat had gone bone dry. “If we live through this, if we’re whatever  _ success _ you’re expecting, I don’t care. The program ends with us.”

“This  _ program _ is the country’s last chance at fighting back against the Omnics on equal ground—”

“Don’t pretend like you give a shit about the war,” Gabriel hissed, “It’s done. You will not decide the fates of another single person here. You understand?”

“That isn’t my call—”

“No. It’s  _ mine _ ,” Gabriel growled.

Real fear flickered in her eyes and stayed there like a lit fire.

“And if we die tonight, you’d better start calling yourself a killer on top of a liar and a thief.”

He turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. Her gaze bore into his back, hot as a knife. Olsen ducked her head down close to his shoulder, her mouth open to say something when Deschamps’ voice cut the grim silence.

“How dare you.” 

Heels clicked against the floor. He felt the fire between his shoulders glow brighter.

“How  _ dare _ you tell me what I can and cannot do.” Her voice wavered in strength but hatred dripped out of every word. “ _ I  _ chose you.  _ I  _ built you from scratch. You were just some forgotten sergeant who wouldn’t have dreamed of climbing the ranks further. That day I met you in Portland was the best goddamn day of your life and you know it. I thought I saw something in your file, Reyes. Something no one else would have ever glanced twice at.”

He slowly turned his head. He didn’t bother trying to hide his glare.

Deschamps held her head high, canines glinting in the low light. “I was wrong to give someone like you a chance.”

“Someone like me,” Gabriel repeated.

Deschamps opened her mouth and Gabriel’s mind went blank and his blood ran cold.

Words sharper than any bullet pierced through his skin like it was nothing more than tissue paper. Heart pounding, mouth dry, Gabriel could only stand and gape as Deschamps’ teeth circled slurs and expletives no one had  _ ever _ had the guts to call him. 

He felt Olsen’s hand on his wrist. Gabriel realized slowly that his hand was balled into a fist, palm sweaty, grip shaking.

She tugged on his arm. Gabriel stood firm.

Deschamps stalked closer with something like a killer’s instinct in her eyes. Her mouth shut only to curve up into a wicked smile. She was enjoying this. Toying with him.

“Worthless,” she hissed, “Both of you are  _ worthless. _ ”

Thunder boomed in his head. Muscles stretched and moved. He moved hard and fast, no restraint, no holding back, with nothing but acid in his blood and smoke in his head.

The door loomed in front of him. Sweat slicked down his brow.

Was he just gonna take it and walk away?

He could feel Deschamps behind him. He knew there was a shit-eating grin on her face.

She wanted to goad him into a fight. He wouldn’t take the bait no matter how good a swing might feel.

“Coward,” she growled, “This is what I’m talking about. You’ve got no _ bite.  _ No resolve. That’s what you’re missing.” 

“Olivia—” A chair squeaked. Dr. Hale coughed. “Drop it. Walk away.”

“Face it, Ezra. He’s just not the  _ man _ you thought he was.”

His heart hit the floor. Cold sweat pricked on the back of his neck.

No one talked to him like that.  _ No one. _

Olsen’s hand tightened on his arm. She leaned close, her brown eyes warm, one brow cocked. “You gonna punch her?” she asked, tipping her head back toward Deschamps. “‘Cuz if you’re not gonna I’m gonna.”

He shook his head tightly. “No,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna hit her.”

Olsen flew away from his side. Deschamps stumbled backwards and hit the desk hard but Olsen’s fist hit harder. Bone crunched. Deschamps let out a horrid cry that devolved into a sob as she slumped down to the floor, both hands cupping her nose. Blood seeped through her fingers. Olsen stood back, rubbing her wrist with her prosthetic hand. Speckled blood covered her knuckles.

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Deschamps hissed, “Get out. Get out of here right fucking now before I—”

“Before you what?” Olsen chuckled, “You wanna take this outside? I’m more than game.” 

Deschamps paled. “Just get out,” she moaned, “Just  _ go _ .”

Gabriel didn’t have to be told twice. He reached for Olsen’s hand and pulled her away before she could start to gloat. 

Out in the hall a crowd had gathered. They scattered at the sight of Olsen’s bloodied knuckles but Gabriel didn’t miss the fact that half of them were smiling.

He couldn’t hide his smile, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Ash (Kerrigore) for beta reading, to Oli for helping me write the scene with Olsen, and to all of you for sticking with me through my horrible update schedule. 
> 
> ♥


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Vomiting

 

Olsen hung onto his arm to keep him steady on the way back to Recovery Three. There was no hiding that grin and the gleam in her eyes. Gabriel couldn’t help but smile about it, too; Deschamps would get what was coming to her. A broken nose was just the start.

Maybe she’d learn never to use those words again.

Both beds were empty when they opened the door.

“Jack?”

“He’s in here.” The bathroom door creaked open. Kowalski’s red hair showed itself before her round face popped free of the crack. “Could you bring me that water bottle?”

Gabriel ducked out from Olsen’s arm to sweep over to Jack’s nightstand. He passed it to her through the crack. He caught a glimpse of blond bent over the toilet before Kowalski pushed the door closed.

Olsen dropped down onto his bed. “Hey, Blondie, what’s the matter? Didn’t like dinner?”

Jack let out a groan that sounded a lot like “fuck you”.

Gabriel settled on the bed next to Olsen and reached behind him for a tissue. He gently took her hand and cleaned away the spattered blood. “Mean left hook,” he teased, “You were a boxer back in the day, yeah?”

“I never told you about that.” Olsen leaned back, grinning so wide dimples appeared in her cheeks. “What can I say? I was a natural. Guess I’ve still got it.” She lifted her prosthetic arm, fist so tight the metal and plastic creaked. “I ever tell you about the time I punched through an Omnic’s chassis and ripped out its processor?”

“That didn’t happen,” Kowalski chirped from the bathroom, “But lies can make good stories.”

Olsen rolled her eyes. “Wait ‘til you see it for yourself. I’ll make a believer out of you.”

The horrid sound of Jack emptying his stomach echoed through the room. Gabriel winced. Olsen’s smile twisted down into a frown.

Kowalski slipped out of the bathroom and landed softly on the bed between them.

“I called for a nurse,” she whispered, “And they took one look at him and said there was nothing they could do. He’s been throwing up for an hour solid. I...I didn’t think that was _possible_.” She grimaced as she leaned back on her hands, brown eyes narrowed and focused on the closed door. “I know he just wants to be left alone but I couldn’t leave. Not before you got back. I’m really sorry, Thirteen.”

“For what?”

“I—” She pulled her heavy eyes away. “Lewis wouldn’t stay with me. Says he’s got emetophobia or something. Dunno why that matters.”

“Thanks for looking out for him.” Olsen slid an arm around her small shoulders. “You up for a mission, Freckles?”

“What?”

Olsen winked at Gabriel. He snorted.

“You two get some rest,” Olsen directed, “Might be an hour. Maybe less. Hopefully Blondie’s gonna be up for it.” Concern flashed briefly in her eyes. “See you, kid. And Jack?”

Something like an affirmative sound came from the bathroom.

“You hang in there, buddy,” Olsen said, “We haven’t had a chance to take you out to a dive bar yet.”

He mumbled something into the toilet.

Olsen slid off the bed with Kowalski still tucked under her arm like she was a mama bird. “I’ll go gather the troops.”

The door clicked shut. Silence fell over him. Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into his hair, until the horrid sounds came to a stop.

He gently knocked before pushing the door open. His stomach twisted at the sight of Jack, pale and shaking and coated in a fine mist of sweat, his cheek pressed against the toilet seat. The mint green hospital gown only exacerbated the lack of color in his skin. Gabriel knelt down beside him and smoothed a hand down his spine. Jack let out a little huff that was more like a groan.

He’d been fine an hour ago. Drugged out of his head and sleepy more than anything else.

Gabriel wiped sweat away from Jack’s forehead as he settled close to him, reaching up with his free hand for the half-full water bottle on the counter. “Look at you,” he sighed, “Don’t think I was the one who needed fresh air.”

“That’s…” Jack lifted his head off the seat with a sharp jerk, his back moving in a heave that was more of a cough than anything else. He groaned as he dropped back onto the seat, his eyes glazed over, mouth slightly open. “That where you went? I was…”

“Worried. I know.” Gabriel ran his hand up Jack’s spine to settle on the back of his neck. His skin was cool to the touch and damp with sweat. Not promising. Gabriel jumped back to his feet and rushed to the bed to pull off the fleece blanket. Returning, he gently draped it over Jack’s shoulders. He let out a small note that might have been approval as Gabriel settled back down at his side.

“Thanks,” Jack mumbled, “I’m cold.”

“I’m here.” Gabriel moved his fingers through fine blond hair. Jack’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I just needed some space to clear my head. Get away from it.”

“I’m not upset. I get it.” Words slurred in Jack’s mouth like he had to think to get them out. “You don’t have to stay. I know I’m gross right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gabriel patted one hand down on Jack’s shoulders and shoved the water bottle in his face. “You look like you need this.”

“I’ll just throw it up,” Jack grumbled. He took it anyway, sloshing it back and forth in a trembling hand. Pale eyes followed the movement of the water slowly, like he was struggling to track it. He seemed to take a long time to decide whether he wanted to risk it or not. Gabriel stayed still and patient, gently soothing a hand through the short hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, until he finally relented and unscrewed the cap.

Jack tossed the bottle aside when it was empty and collapsed back onto the seat with a groan. “I hate getting sick.”

“I know, Jack. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. But thanks for saying it anyway,” Jack grunted. “You should thank her for me.”

“Who? Freckles?”

“She didn’t have to stay, either.” Words tumbled in Jack’s mouth like marbles. Gabriel smiled a little at the fondness in Jack’s voice. Kowalski used to follow him around like a puppy during training missions; Gabriel figured Jack never knew about the short-lived crush. “Not that I need someone to hold my hair back.” A low laugh rumbled in his throat, caught, and morphed into a wet cough. Jack knocked his forehead against the toilet seat with a groan. “I really don’t want to die in a bathroom, Gabe. Makes a pretty bad headline.”

“You won’t.” Gabriel forced down the lump in his throat. “Listen. Olsen’s breaking us out.”

“She’s what?” Jack turned his head to survey him with a glassy eye.

“Yeah. Hey, you know what I think might help?” Gabriel tugged on his shoulder. Jack didn’t budge. “Getting dressed. Acting like things are normal.”

“Things aren’t _normal,_ ” Jack groused. Still, despite the growl in his voice, he lifted his head off the seat and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Nurse left me some stuff on the chair in the corner.”

“She bring back your sweater?”

Gabriel gently rustled the blanket over Jack’s shoulders. He let out a pathetic little groan and tipped to the side, head lolling loose on his shoulders. “You ever gonna stop teasing me about that?”

He left the bathroom wearing a grin instead of giving an answer. When he returned with the stack of fresh-smelling clothes Jack was standing with the blanket bunched up in his hands.

Jack’s hands slid over his as they traded stacks. “Give me a minute.”

“Sure.”

Gabriel waited on the edge of the bed, kicking his heel against the floor. He could hear little grumbles and the shuffling of clothes on the other side of the bathroom door.

He could feel Jack’s thoughts like a light breeze. _He’s right...dwelling on it won’t make it any better. You know that. Can’t waste time, anyway._

A chill ran down his spine. Gabriel gave his head a shake. How the hell was he supposed to get used to feeling like he could see straight through Jack’s skull?

It had to be that. Just a feeling.

_These sweatpants are too big...god, they’re so scratchy…did they soak them in starch or something?_

Gabriel bit down on a chuckle. He could almost feel Jack tense up on the other side of the door.

Jack let out a hiss. Something heavy slammed against the door. Feet pattered against the floor. “Gabe,” came a short gasp, “Could you, uh—”

He popped off the bed, threw open the door, and barked out a laugh at the sight of Jack, bent over the counter with his head somehow stuck in a white t-shirt.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Fuck,” Jack hissed. He leaned over the sink, feet shuffling backwards. “I can’t stand up straight,” he said through gritted teeth, voice muffled by the t-shirt, “Fuck, I think I pulled something.”

Gabriel gently set a hand over the thick bandages that covered Jack’s abdomen. He went still and rigid at the touch.

He was half-dressed, at least; the sweatpants swam around his waist and thighs even though Jack was far from small-framed. He’d drawn the string tight enough to wrinkle the waistband. There was no blood on the bandages. A trail of green-tinted bruises ran up his side to the bottom of his ribs alongside small, faint scratches and abrasions. Gabriel gently smoothed his hand up Jack’s stomach. Jack inhaled sharply, jerking forward into the touch.

Gabriel’s mouth went dry. He coughed to clear his throat and reached up for the thin cotton shirt. “Don’t know how you managed this,” he sighed, tugging on the fabric, “How much does it hurt?”

A pause. He could hear Jack thinking. “Not that much.”

 _Enough_.

Gabriel gently pulled Jack’s arms through the shirt and rolled the fabric down his back, keeping his torso still with the other hand. Jack slowly stood up straight, eyes screwed shut like it took all of his focus. He let out a little gasp when he made it.

His blond hair was a mess and there was still a thin sheen of sweat on his brow but already Jack looked better. Maybe it was just the mint green gown that had made him look so sickly.

Gabriel patted him on the back. “There you go.” He reached for the counter, leaning his weight against it. He studied Jack’s profile for a long heartbeat, his mind clear and empty.

Grainy stubble coated Jack’s jaw. With the strength of the bathroom light he caught traces of bruises and freckles he hadn’t noticed before.

He pulled his eyes away only for his gaze to flicker back. Jack looked terribly serious for a long, unsettling moment before his lips cracked into a smile.

“What?” Gabriel asked.

Jack let out a little sigh as his shoulders relaxed. “Nothing,” he said, “But you were right. So...thanks.”

“Right about what?”

“I feel better.” Jack’s smile wavered, just for a moment. “I feel…” He drew a palm down the front of his shirt. The bandage made a bump under the cotton but he doubted that Jack was really concerned about how he looked. “I feel human.”

Jack lifted his chin. His blue eyes turned white with the angle of the light. “Did you get the space you needed?”

“Huh?” Gabriel took a moment to adjust, blinking away the first thoughts that slammed into his head. “Yeah. Fresh air,” he mumbled. “I told you I requested to call home?”

“I was there.”

“Right.” Gabriel swallowed, forcing a thin smile. He knew it didn’t look convincing and let it drop. “Had the privilege of running into Deschamps.”

“Oh, great.”

“Ended better than I expected,” Gabriel chuckled, “But…”

_They said no?_

He nodded. Jack let out a little sigh as he moved in front of Gabriel, fingers brushing against his chin. “I’m sorry. I know how much you miss them.”

His tight smile waned. Bright eyes slowly closed. A cold, clammy thumb moved over his cheek. “You sure she can’t be reasoned with?”

“We’re well past that point.”

Jack brought his shoulders up in a quick, awkward shrug. “I should have…” His eyes unfocused, just for a moment, hand dropping away from Gabriel’s face. “I should have stopped to think back there...I had time and I didn’t use it. That’s...that’s on me.”

Gabriel circled Jack’s arm with his, knocking their shoulders together. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch. He soothed his palm along the inside of his wrist, hoping to warm him up, knowing that it wouldn’t help much. Jack relaxed into the touch but his eyes remained distant, unfocused. “What happened out there?”

“It was so fast,” Jack said, “Five Predators instead of three...more Bastions than the carrier should have been able to hold.” He bit down on his bottom lip, chewing thoughtfully. “We got them by surprise, all right, but...it could have gone south quick. It...it _did._ ”

“No. Jack…” Gabriel leaned back against the counter, relaxing his grip on Jack’s arm to lace his fingers around his wrist. “What happened to _you_?”

His eyes fell back to the bulky bandages. Jack shifted on his feet, turning his chest away.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“You got shot,” Gabriel pressed, “There’s no shame in an injury, Jack.”

Jack twisted toward him, but his gaze remained locked on the far side of the room. “Four rounds to the abdomen,” he mumbled, his voice so low Gabriel could barely hear, “Shredded my bladder. Damaged a kidney.”

“What part of that is embarrassing?”

“I’m gonna have a scar,” Jack huffed. His eyes met Gabriel’s, hard and reflective like he was trying to throw up a mental defense. Gabriel could see through it. _Feel_ through it. Shame curled in his gut.

He was gonna have a scar right above—

“...Right, you know.” Jack gestured loosely to his stomach. “Haven’t looked yet, but...hurts enough that I know it’s gonna be ugly.”

“Jack, are you fucking serious?”

Gabriel caught the flare of embarrassment on his cheeks before he twisted away, hands curling tight in the front of his shirt. “I know it sounds stupid—”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Jack froze. Gabriel moved fast to circle a hand around Jack’s waist. He moved close enough to rest his chin on Jack’s shoulder, free hand picking up Jack’s right. “Look.” He waited for Jack’s gaze to travel to his hand and turned his arm over. The gash where Jack had been cut only a few days before was gone like it had never existed. “Doubt you’ll scar.”

“Bit of a difference,” Jack mumbled, “That was pretty shallow.”

Gabriel let his hand rove over Jack’s stomach. Jack shivered under his palm like he was cold, muscles tensing. For a moment, he could swear that nothing else existed. Sound drained away.

He smelled _good._ Gabriel nosed against his shoulder, breathing in the clean smell of laundry and Jack underneath it. Jack brushed a thumb along his forearm.

They stood like that for what felt like a long time, comfortable in silence.

“You’re quiet,” he whispered.

“Thinking.” Gabriel shifted the hand on Jack’s stomach. Hard muscle twitched under his hand. Jack drew in a stuttering breath that he quickly bit down on. Gabriel lifted his head to catch Jack’s eyes.

Scared. Defensive. He could read him like a book. _I don’t want you to think I’m ugly._

“With all the drugs they’re pumping into us, I’m sure you’ll heal up fine.” _If we survive this at all_ , a cruel voice mocked in his head. Gabriel forced a smile past it. Jack’s rigid posture twisted his gut. Had he heard that?

No way to really know.

He smoothed a hand up Jack’s chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart and the soft rise and fall of solid lungs. Fingers lightly touched Gabriel’s waist. He jumped at the contact, breath caught in his throat. Jack grinned down at him.

“Besides,” Gabriel sighed, “I like a man with scars.”

Jack sputtered, his smooth veneer cracked by a blush that spread rapidly across his cheeks. Gabriel surged forward to lock his arms around Jack’s waist but he twisted, his back to Gabriel, probably trying to hide his embarrassment. Gabriel pressed quick kisses against his shoulder. He didn’t let up until Jack squirmed under the attention, broken only when he started laughing, chest rumbling before he cut himself off with a groan.

“Don’t get too excited,” he mumbled, “I’ve got a catheter in.”

Gabriel let him go without a second thought. “Add ‘killing the mood’ to your list of talents.”

Jack turned around enough for Gabriel to see him roll his eyes.

Happiness bubbled up in Gabriel’s chest, warm and soft and perfect.

Jack already looked better. Maybe a little optimism was what they both needed.

“You feeling well enough for tonight?” Gabriel walked back toward the door, holding it open. The hospital room was still dark and empty.

“Depends on what Olsen’s got in mind,” Jack said.

Gabriel made a show of shrugging, unable to hide his grin. Jack would love it. “You about ready? Dunno when she’ll be back.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighed, “Give me a minute to brush my teeth.”

“Sure.”

He flopped onto the bed and flipped up his hood. It didn’t smell like home anymore, but he could pretend that he was home on a long weekend, shooting hoops in the driveway with Bianca with music playing from a cellphone sitting on the front step. Home had tasted like orange soda and sangria and too-sweet coffee, had smelled like grass and gasoline and salt. It was a mix of concrete and sand under his feet. The sound of loose flip-flops. Drops of sweat on his brow.

Endless summers and the smell of library books and the sound of his phone buzzing with messages from friends.

Jack dropped onto the bed beside him with a sigh. Gabriel tossed an arm out across his pillow and Jack rolled in against his side, his body still cold, shivering so slightly Gabriel could barely feel it. He smelled like peppermint and soap. Gabriel angled his nose into Jack’s hair. It was slightly damp, like he’d tried to rinse it in the sink.

They laid like that for what felt like ages, their breathing synced, heads empty. Jack’s only movement was the rhythmic sweep of his hand against Gabriel’s stomach, fingers smoothing over his thin t-shirt.

He was close to falling asleep when Jack perked up at his side, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “Every morning could be like this,” he said, “Just _us_.”

Gabriel’s heart paused. Breath caught in his throat.

He felt Jack smile against his shoulder. “Every night too, I guess.” His voice was muffled by the angle of his head but Gabriel felt the echo of the thought like it was his own. He saw a flash of yellow; a bed with the covers kicked off to make a mess on the floor, the two of them laying half-dressed with their legs tangled together, fast asleep under a stream of warm yellow light.

He could almost feel it on his skin.

“Nice picture,” Gabriel sighed. “You only saw the house, what, twice? You’ve got a good memory.”

He could barely remember the crisp night they’d walked down to the corner store and back to pick up a few extra things for Bianca’s birthday. Gabriel had done most of the talking. Still did, he supposed.

Jack stiffened. His hand paused on Gabriel’s stomach. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get used to that.”

“Me neither,” Gabriel admitted.

He patted a hand down on Jack’s shoulder. “The way you see things. The way you _think…_ ” Gabriel traced a finger down Jack’s collarbone to his sternum, letting it rest over the beat of his heart. “I’m sorry. I know it’s gotta be weird to feel like someone’s in your head.”

“Definitely. But...it’s not just someone. It’s _you._ ” Jack folded one arm over Gabriel’s chest and set his chin on his arm, looking up at him through sandy eyelashes. “I did say I wasn’t interested in keeping secrets from you.”

“That’s true.”

“I trust you, Gabe.” Jack moved off his chest, rolling away from his side to pull himself up away from his shoulder. He hovered just a breath away from Gabriel’s mouth, a soft smile on his lips and a bright eagerness in his eyes. “You know what I’m thinking right now?”

“I don’t need to read your mind to know.”

The words rang clear in Jack’s head. _Kiss me._

“Gonna give you a pass, considering I just pulled you off the toilet five minutes ago—”

Jack reached up for his hood and tugged it down over his eyes. Gabriel squirmed but Jack held the fabric down until a laugh started in his throat, low and awkward but beautiful. His stomach coiled up into a tight little ball as Jack moved over him, one leg thrown over his, a hand heavy on his shoulder and Jack’s breath ghosting against his cheek, warm and sweet.

“Quit it,” Gabriel scoffed, wiggling onto his side. Jack moved with him, arms wrapped around his waist, his chest pressed to his back. He rumbled with the last of his laugh until he grew quiet, his mind blank, breathing slowing to a gentle pace.

Jack played with the strings of his hoodie. Gabriel watched the little movements of his scarred knuckles and his deft fingers as they rolled the metal tip between calloused fingers. Jack snorted before giving them both a tug, tightening the hood around his face until he saw the hospital room through a tight circle.

“You done?”

“For now.”

Gabriel rolled over. Jack moved back to give him room, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand still tugging at one of his hoodie strings. White teeth edged on his bottom lip like he was trying to keep himself quiet.

He saw a flash of yellow in Jack’s head. It swam over his own thoughts, smoothing over the edges and creases in his mind. Sunflowers bent under a gust of wind. It rushed past his ears and through his hair. The smell of grass and the distant hum of a lawnmower rang in the distance, thrown further across the field by the side of a freshly repainted barn, the new red still glistening under the sun.

Grass and dried straw crunched under a pair of unlaced blue sneakers. Jack moved through the field with one hand outstretched, bending back the sunflowers as he walked back toward the house.

Gabriel let his eyes fall closed. The illusion of warm sun on his back was overwhelming. Distantly, he wondered if Jack could _feel_ his memories; if he could lose himself in them like one lost themselves in a good book or a tv show.

Instead of asking he lifted a hand to his chin, reveling in the little gasp Jack made when his thumb swiped over his bottom lip.

“Where is that?”

Jack’s eyes fluttered closed. “Grandparent’s farm,” he said, voice softened by a deep feeling of longing that Gabriel could feel in _his_ chest, like he was the one missing it. “I lived with them for a summer. I ever tell you that?”

“You did.”

An easy smile flopped on Jack’s mouth. Gabriel gently traced over the curve.

“Why’s it on your mind?”

“I don’t know.” Jack cracked open one blue eye, surveying him with a look Gabriel couldn’t decipher. “Thinking about home, I guess. Aren’t you?”

“Always.”

Jack moved off his chest to settle against his side with a sigh. Gabriel reached down to push a hand through his hair. “I should have gone to see them when we went to Indiana,” Jack said, “They lived just a few roads down. Not far.”

Gabriel stayed quiet. Jack’s thoughts were a mess under a blue sky filled with tall, puffy clouds.

“I wanted to go back. Leave school and brave home again.” Jack tapped a finger lightly against Gabriel’s sternum, mouth worried into a frown. “But I couldn’t do it. I was too scared to try. And…”

_They lived just a few roads down from Dad._

“They’re still…”

“Yeah. They’re still alive. They didn’t have to leave the farm when the Crisis broke out.”

Jack fell silent. Gabriel swept his hand through his hair idly, eyes closing of their own accord. He was tired, but tired in a way that reminded him of college weekends when he and his friends would drink too much and stay up late into the deep hours of the night.

His head was empty. So was Jack’s, but Gabriel could feel him stop and start, ready to take a breath and force out whatever was dancing around his head. He figured Jack was tired, too. Being sick like that could drain someone in record time.

Gabriel still didn’t know how many hours had passed.

How much time they had left.

-

He woke up when a deep, electric whine echoed through the room, minute vibrations humming through the bedframe. Jack shifted where he laid on his chest, his blond hair illuminated by a faint halo of white from the outside hall that flickered and died a moment later. The room was perfectly still and quiet, both of them holding their breath in the dark. Waiting. Waiting for _what_?

Gabriel shook the fog out of his mind. “Power’s out,” he rasped, “How long have we been asleep?”

“Not that long.” Jack pulled himself up to a sitting position. Gabriel could barely see him. He reached out to sweep a hand down the small of his back. Jack was shaking again. “Another storm?”

“Didn’t look like we were gonna get one when I was outside.”

Jack slipped off the bed. Gabriel laid still, struggling to adjust to the gloom, as Jack padded back toward the bathroom. He heard the hollow thud of his hand against the door, then the sound of the tap running.

Without Jack’s body at his side he suppressed a shiver. The room couldn’t be that cold.

He lifted himself with a concerning amount of effort to sit on the edge of the bed, socked feet dangling above the cold floor. A chill moved over the back of his neck. Gabriel twitched, throwing a hand over clammy skin with an audible _slap_. He was sweating, but only barely, the nape of his hair damp.

He leaned forward over his knees to quell the sudden nausea in his gut.

The bathroom door creaked. He could feel Jack move through the inky blackness. “I’m fucking freezing,” he hissed. Gabriel could hear his teeth clack together and winced at the sound. The bed moved with his weight. He groped in the dark until his hand bumped against Jack’s thigh.

His muscles twitched and shook.

Promising.

A tiny shred of light passed under the door. Gabriel stilled, his hand tightening on Jack’s knee, as the knob turned. Someone hissed outside the door. Someone else snapped back, much louder, “Be quiet.”

“I _am_ being quiet.”

Lewis. Gabriel relaxed. “The hell are you doing?”

The door creaked open. The light switched off. Two black forms bobbed in the doorway. “Come on,” Olsen hissed, “Just bought us a few minutes. Had to time it just right.”

“Please,” Lewis scoffed. “No one cares.”

“Maybe not but it’s more fun this way,” Olsen snapped back. Something soft hit something else and Lewis let out a huff and a string of curses.

The door closed. The light flicked back on. It washed Lewis’ brown skin out blue. “Right this way,” he said, ducking down into a bow, “Got quite the setup.”

Olsen’s grin caught the light. “You’ll love it.”

-

Gabriel lost track of the route in the solid blackness. Lewis pulled him by his arm, his grip tight and sweaty, until Olsen called for them to stop and flicked the light back on. The beam danced up a set of dusty access stairs.

He picked his way up the steps, mindful of Jack’s slower pace behind him. The thick smell of dust and smoke hung in the still air.

He jumped at the sound of metal hitting metal. The light clicked off. Olsen hissed under her breath as she rattled something. Metal groaned before it gave. Moonlight crept through an open door that stuck in the frame before she gave it a sharp pull, popping it open.

Lewis dragged him through the doorway. Gabriel dug in his heels, head whipping around to take it all in.

“Wow.”

That didn’t quite cut it.

Friendly faces smiled back at him, aglow in pale starlight. Blankets and pillows and mats covered the rooftop between two hulking air conditioning units. Beyond the edge of the roof concrete gave way to low, rolling hills. He lifted his chin and breathed out mist into the chilled air.

Thousands of stars sat in the spaces between thin clouds.

Jack bumped against his shoulder. Gabriel brought himself back down to earth. “Wow, Tex.” He fumbled for words, mouth working, until she playfully punched his shoulder.

“I’m a woman of my word, kid.” She slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from Jack, who only rolled his eyes. “I know it’s a little cold, and it might rain, but we’ve got the whole kitchen sink right here. Shitty cooking sherry, cheap beer, cigarettes—”

“Where the hell did you get all that this quickly?”

“Khan made friends.” Olsen winked at him across the roof, where he was perched by the edge of the building, grinning wide enough to show all his teeth. “You know him. Real charmer. Listen.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, pulling him away from Lewis, who was already distracted by Carson rattling a case of beer. “You deserve to have one last good party. Try to have fun, okay? Both of you.”

“Way to stay optimistic.”

Olsen stepped away, both hands raised, a small, sad smile on her lips. “Then it’s just a party.”

She drifted off to the edge of the roof to sit with Khan. Gabriel felt a hand on his shoulder and didn’t need to look to know it was Jack.

_Last night...gotta make it big._

Gabriel snorted. “Been awhile since I had a night out.”

Before Jack could open his mouth to say what was on his mind—something along the lines of _we deserve a chance to kick back—_ Kowalski appeared in front of them, her eyes caught on Jack, barely hiding her worry under a thin smile.

She lifted a bottle of cooking sherry. Someone had already taken a good bite out of it. Judging by the pink blush in her cheeks, it was her. “Hey. Feeling a bit better?”

Jack shrugged. “Think it’s passed for now.”

“I’m glad.” She swayed gently on her feet, humming under her breath. “It’s your night. Both of you...I owe you so much. _All_ of us do.” Her eyes roved over Jack before flicking back to the floor. She wasn’t dressed for a party. None of them were. But how hard could it be to pretend the ugly SEP logos weren’t there?

He’d gone to a rooftop party once before, shortly after they returned to their homes following the aerial attack on the city. He and thirty other people had smoked and drank until the sun rose. Needless to say, he couldn’t remember much but the general mood. Back then, it had been about coming _home_ , about surviving, about looking forward to building back what they had lost.

This felt different. Stark, cold, and wrong.

Maybe it would have been easier to die in a hospital bed, his head empty, with Jack sleeping peacefully on his chest.

Jack moved against his side, knocking their shoulders together. Kowalski had one eyebrow cocked. She’d said something else and he’d missed it.

He forced a smile and a nod. Kowalski seemed to accept it and strode away, upending the bottle as she walked and cursing when she spilled on her sweater.

Gabriel traced the spaces between the air conditioning units. Lewis and Carson grinned back at them, beckoning from what looked like a warm cocoon of bodies and blankets.

He shivered in the cold air. Jack, again, bumped his shoulder.

“Gabe?”

“Space,” he muttered, “Just need a little more space. Could I have that?”

He kept his chin down, eyes trained on the cracks in the tar covering the roof. Off to the left the roof drops down about two meters. He could pick out a metal ladder against the lip. Good a place as any to steal a few moments for himself.

Jack patted his hand down on Gabriel’s shoulder. “As much as you need. I’ll be here. Okay?”

He slipped away, head down, but he heard the echo. _He was fine a minute ago…_

Gabriel slid down the ladder and landed hard on a lower section of the roof. The building stretched out, long and thin, the hills on one side a massive black ridge. He picked a spot by the wall where he couldn’t be seen and plopped down, knees drawn to his chest, forehead pressed against his hands.

Death, long overdue, swam in the stars overhead. He clunked his head back against the wall, eyes aching, throat sore, committed to ignoring the void in his chest.

_Pull it apart. Take the pieces and put them somewhere they make sense._

An old routine. It had kept him from crying, kept him from panicking, kept him from getting angry more times than he could count.

It was better if he died. He was _supposed_ to die. Should have bled out in the field. What was it Dr. Hale had said? Bullet missed his heart by an inch. Yet he was alive, breathing, walking around like he hadn’t caught traces of the other side.

If Deschamps continued the program—

Gabriel wrapped his arms around himself to fend off a violent shiver. Too fucking cold to be stargazing.

Deschamps’ Queen piece had been cornered, but there was always a chance she could slip away, and Gabriel had known it despite all his reasoning. _Money is power._

Money had no heart. Gabriel scoffed, digging nails into his scalp. She didn’t have a heart, either.

What would his grave look like? Would they send his body home so his parents could bury their only son, or would they leave him in the freezers for the military to find when they came and cleaned out the last of the scientists and half-dead subjects?

_Take the pieces and put them where they belong._

For a split second Gabriel forgot that he was on a cold rooftop and was eight years old instead, watching his father move hand-carved chess pieces across the board they’d set up on the kitchen table. Dark brown eyes tracked Gabriel’s moves. When he messed up his father would smile under his beard and laugh, a gleam in his eyes, but he threw those matches for the sake of his son’s ego.

It didn’t matter if he died. He only had, what—a few hours left?—and he wasn’t going to spend them alone.

He breathed out through chattering teeth and slowly picked himself up, ignoring the prick of tears in his eyes.

-

He felt leagues better with a cold can of watery beer in his hand. It tasted like shit, but the feeling of it helped cement him, helped make the illusion that much stronger. Surrounded by lighthearted chatter and the warmth of friends bumping against his shoulder, he felt inclined to keep pushing it down. He could pretend. It was easier that way. To accept that he had no control and let it come.

At least he wouldn’t have to look down the barrel of a gun.

He pulled himself away from mediating a battle of wits between Khan and Carson to join Jack by the edge of the roof, who was busy making short work of a pack of cigarettes.

He blew smoke out of his nose as Gabriel approached. Silvery eyes looked him up and down. Slowly, Jack lowered the cigarette, barely more than a stub. He fidgeted with a lighter in his free hand.

Despite his little smile, Gabriel could see him shaking, knew it wasn’t the cold. “Sit with me?”

Jack pulled his heavy eyes away. He clamped the cigarette between his teeth before plopping down with a huff, feet outstretched. The heels of his shoes squeaked against the metal guard on the lip of the roof. Gabriel gingerly sat beside him, knees pulled up, bracing his weight on one hand behind him.

“This used to help,” Jack mumbled. He gave the lighter a flick with his thumbnail. “It’s not working now.”

“Think our bodies might be better at filtering out nicotine.”

“Fuck.” Jack tossed the butt over the edge of the roof. Gabriel watched the little drop of orange land down on the concrete patio. He folded over, one hand scraping through his hair, eyes screwed tight. “I can’t even think straight.”

“I know, Jack.”

Jack’s body went rigid for a second. Tension grew between his shoulders. Gabriel ached to reach out and touch him but sensed the need for distance, didn’t try.

A tight ball of thoughts leaked through Jack’s skull like water through a sieve. Gabriel couldn’t make sense of any of it.

He rubbed a finger over the tough rubbery tar on the rooftop, waiting for Jack to speak. The quiet wasn’t a comfort anymore. Whatever peace they’d found in that hospital room was long gone.

He sipped his beer for something to do, ignoring the bitter taste. He might have been more excited about coffee spiked with whiskey or brandy, or maybe hot cider. Considering the circumstances he wouldn’t complain.

“Want one?”

Jack held out a slim cigarette. He clicked the lighter in his other hand. Gabriel eyed it but shook his head.

“I really shouldn’t. Bad habit.”

“It is,” Jack sighed. He stuck it in his mouth and cupped his hands around the lighter until it caught. He took a deep pull, breathing a long plume out into the night. “Wish I’d never started. But I guess it’s too late for regrets.” He chewed on the thoughts, lips twisted, until he took a second, shorter puff. “Lot of things I would have done differently.”

Gabriel’s gut twisted. He leaned back, chin angled up to the sky. Whatever magic the night held hadn’t sunk in, not yet, and the stars were nothing more than distant pricks of light.

He shifted closer to Jack, shoulders brushing. His throat ached but he managed the question just fine. “Like what?”

Jack leaned against him, eyes glued to the cigarette smoking between his fingers. For a moment his eyes were hard like ice, throwing back pinpricks of starlight, dancing with constellations. He blinked and the illusion fled, leaving him dark and cold.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Jack mumbled.

His tone was flat. Lifeless. Gabriel tugged his eyes away to stare at the dead, skeletal trees on the mountain ridge instead. Nothing at all like the shadow of the Santa Monica mountains or the verdant green that had surrounded him in Oregon.

Slowly, he drew his eyes back to Jack. He was still and rigid, his brow drawn in thought, but Gabriel felt nothing echo in his head. He looked... _peaceful_ , somehow, under the hard veneer.

Jack sucked on his cigarette and let out a long plume of smoke that hung on the cool air. “Never thought I’d have to wait for it.”

“Wait for what?”

“I just...always figured it’d come fast. Leave no room to think twice about it.” Jack moved away, breaking the point of contact between them, to slowly get back on his feet. Gabriel stayed sitting, head angled up at Jack, waiting for _something_ to become clear in his head.

“That would have been a mercy,” Jack mumbled, “But it doesn’t matter. Nothing I can do about it except…” He kicked his shoe against the rooftop, sending loose gravel flying down over the edge. “I’ve been here before, Gabe. I just never thought I’d be _back_.”

A tough knot swelled in Gabriel’s throat. He coughed to clear it. “What are you talking about?”

Jack shook his head as he took another drag. “I’m not upset. I don’t want you worrying about me. Not now.”

“So, you’re not…” Gabriel chewed on the words. Jack turned away on his heel to pace across the roof, close enough to the edge to turn his stomach. “...You’re not scared?”

“Of death? No.” Jack stopped, cigarette halfway to his mouth, before he flicked the last of it against the roof and ground the butt under his heel. “You know that I was…”

The word rang clear as a bell in Gabriel’s head. “Yeah,” he croaked, “I remember...I was worried about you, back then.” He shifted to lean forward over his knees, his gut churning. Down below in the ravine the water reflected starlight back at him. “Back in basic. You kept so much distance and I couldn’t figure why, until…”

Until the bombs had caved in the roof.

“Oh.” Surprise rolled over Jack’s expression. “That’s...that’s not why.” His mouth curled up into a thin smile that wore away far too soon. “I had some trouble adjusting to all the noise. New people. Bad food...it was way too much.”

Gabriel took a deep swig of his beer. Setting it down, wiping his mouth, he said, “So it wasn’t…”

“Just sensory hell,” Jack chuckled, ruffling a hand through his hair. A fresh smile cracked across his mouth. “But I liked being around you. Even when you were being an ass.”

“You did?”

“Don’t pretend you couldn’t tell,” Jack scoffed. He folded back down on the roof, bumping shoulders. “It was obvious.”

Gabriel played with the tab on the beer can, brain working overtime. _Had_ he known? He fought through the mess in his head and finally gave it a shake. “No,” he mumbled, “I didn’t know. Figured we were barely even friends. At least the way you saw it.”

“What?” Jack spun around to face him, one eyebrow cocked. “You didn’t really think that.”

“And if I did?”

Jack flicked the lighter with a sharp, audible _click_. “You invited me into your home.”

“Seemed like the polite thing to do at the time.”

“You let me stay in your room.”

“Well, I wasn’t about to make you sleep _outside_.”

That made Jack laugh, slow and awkward, devolving into a cough. Grinning and shaking his head, he fumbled for the pack of cigarettes tucked into his pocket. “You must have liked me.”

“Something like that.”

“You sure you don’t want one?” Jack popped open the carton. There were only four left.

“You should probably stop,” Gabriel said.

“Helps with the nausea.” Jack shrugged. “Haven’t had a smoke since Indiana. Whole year before that.”

“You were doing really good.”

Jack dropped the carton on the rooftop with a sigh. “Started way too young. Might be fighting this all my life.” He leaned against Gabriel’s side, the lighter flashing between his fingers as he flicked the lid. “You sure you wanna sit out here with me?” He angled his chin backward. Gabriel figured someone grouped up between the air conditioning units was watching them. Jack turned back slowly, his smile tight and forced. “You, uh...gonna finish that?”

Jack loosely gestured to his half-empty can of beer. Gabriel should his head and passed it over. “Never was a beer guy.”

“Oh.”

“And…” Gabriel chewed on his tongue. His throat, still swollen tight, barely managed more than a whisper. “I want to be here. With you.” He reached between them for Jack’s hand, running his fingertips lightly over smooth, cold knuckles. He let the touch linger, ignoring the gazes he could feel on his back.

They sat in silence. The cold gnawed at the gaps in his clothes and stuck to his skin like a sheet of wet paper. Jack shook beside him, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.

Gabriel unzipped his hoodie without thinking and pulled it off, wincing at the sudden freeze that rolled over him. He could feel Jack watching him, heard questions run through his head. He pushed them aside as he shifted to throw his hoodie over Jack’s broad shoulders. “Here.”

“What are you doing?”

Gabriel didn’t answer. He was left in just a long-sleeved shirt, but he’d manage. He wasn’t the one shaking with a cold sweat in the bathroom an hour ago, anyway. Jack slowly shouldered into it with a resigned sigh, popping up the hood.

“Thank you.”

Gabriel pulled the zipper up for him. It didn’t fit him right, either. He hadn’t been small back in college, but Jack was wider, taller. He patted a hand down over his chest. “Blue looks better on you, anyway.”

“I’m starting to think you just like seeing me in your clothes.”

Gabriel pulled his chin away before Jack’s teasing smile could get to him. “Shut up.”

“You’re gonna freeze, Gabe.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He felt a hand smooth over his lower back. Subtle. He grinned up at Jack. “We really should go join the party, seeing as it’s for _us._ ”

“I know.” Jack chewed on his bottom lip, eyes locked on the sky. Gabriel followed his gaze to trace along the edges of thin clouds. Stars floated in the spaces between. “It’s selfish, but...I just wanna be here with my boyfriend. Is that so bad?”

Gabriel’s heart slammed to a stop. _Boyfriend._

A shiver of electricity rippled up his spine and ended in a smile that he tried to hide by tucking his head onto Jack’s shoulder. Jack shifted to embrace him, the hand on his back smoothing up and hooking over his neck to pull him closer.

He smelled like mint and cigarettes but he breathed it in all the same.

“Told you you were gonna get cold,” Jack sighed. His voice, low and fond, made Gabriel’s heart ache. A warm hand moved through his hair, fingertips brushing his cheek and tickling his ear. Gabriel let his eyes fall closed as he relaxed into the touch. “Stars are beautiful.”

He mumbled an affirmative, too bone-tired to open his eyes. The cold sat heavy on his shoulders. He curled closer to Jack, far past giving a shit about the whispers he could hear from their friends on the other side of the roof.

“Pretty hard to be disappointed, even with everything that’s happened.” Jack dropped his voice to a faint whisper. Fingers moved slowly through his hair, sifting through his curls in a soft, rhythmic motion that threatened to put Gabriel right to sleep. “I want that house. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But things turned out better than I ever thought they could. I...I found you again. I never thought I would. Not with this war, not with distance and time and…” A slow laugh lapped over his words. Gabriel grinned against his shoulder. “Too much? I’ll ease up.”

“By all means, keep talking,” Gabriel whispered.

Jack fell silent. He listened to his breathing, to the whisper of the breeze through the trees lining the ravine, to the sudden outbursts of laughter from behind them. A song broke out, distorted by a shitty speaker. Gabriel didn’t recognize it, but judging by the hitch in Jack’s breath, he did.

“Hey! Who’s got that?”

The sudden outburst caught against Gabriel’s nerves. He jolted off Jack’s shoulder, following his gaze to where Lewis stood, brandishing something that caught the light.

“Could I borrow that?” Jack asked.

Lewis crossed the roof in a swaying line. Half-drunk, Gabriel suspected. “No one wants to listen to your old shit,” he slurred, waving the device, which lit up to show album art he didn’t recognize. “What do you wanna put on? More of that Beach Boys shit?”

“They’re a good band,” Jack mumbled.

Lewis rolled his eyes. “That’s just embarrassing.”

Lewis tossed the device. Jack caught it with one hand. “You’re the man, Lewis.”

“Don’t I know.” Lewis gave Jack the finger but flipped Gabriel a wave. “Don’t be strangers.”

Jack watched Lewis until he disappeared behind the edge of an air conditioning unit. Gabriel sat back on his hands, chin angled up toward the stars.

They really were something, way out here, with no light to dull them.

“Couldn’t pass up my chance,” Jack said through a grin, thumb moving over the screen. The music died off. “Last night on Earth. This—” Jack gestured with his hand to the low, dark mountains, the field of stars—“This is incredible. Couldn’t have dreamed of a better backdrop.”

Gabriel’s gut clenched, but Jack was smiling, his eyes bright.

“I ever tell you about Denver?”

“A little. You bussed tables,” Gabriel grunted.

Jack’s eyes softened. Gabriel had no idea what was going on in his head. Everything was bright yellow.

“I left school on a night just like this.” Jack leaned forward over his knees, face awash in the glow of the tablet. “Shoved everything I had into a duffle bag and climbed out the window. Still don’t know how I didn’t wake up my roommate.” Jack set a song to play and dialed down the volume to a murmur. “Middle of fucking January and my dad decided I was gonna come home. That we were going to make things right. For Mom.” He worried his lip between his teeth. His thoughts shifted from yellow to white, blank. “I jacked a staff car and drove until I hit the state border. I didn’t have a license or any money, I just...I had to get away. I stopped at three in the morning somewhere in Illinois and climbed onto the roof and…”

Jack trailed off, eyes cloudy, distant. Gabriel curled their hands together, gave his a squeeze. “You told me you hitched rides.”

“I did. Later,” Jack mumbled, “I sold the car so I could afford a motel for a few nights. Snowstorm.”

“Oh.”

“I remember thinking that I couldn’t just wander. That I had to make a new start. That I couldn’t just be scared that he’d track me down and find me.” Jack pressed his thumb against the screen. “This came on the radio, and...that was it. I made up my mind right there. Used to believe in fate. Signs.” Jack paused, eyes hard, mouth pressed into a line.

_I’d be safe and warm,_

_If I was in LA..._

“Took me months just to get to Colorado,” Jack said, “And I loved that diner, Gabe. I treated it like it was mine. I didn’t have a goddamn thing to my name except the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my pocket when I came in the door, and...I think they knew my story right off the bat. Molly and Roxanne offered me a job before I finished my coffee.” A slow, warm smile bloomed on his face. “I should go back and visit them. See how they’re holding up in Nebraska.”

“Coworkers?”

“They took me in when I had nowhere else to go. They were like my family, Gabe.” He let out a sigh, shifted closer to Gabriel, and pressed the tablet into his hands. “As close as I ever got outside of Indiana, but…I still had dreams of making it to LA. Had a tip jar to save up, but I’d dip into it for cigarette money. I was too restless to see a future there, not brave enough to go back on the road alone.”

Jack pulled his hand away to fold his arms over his knees, eyes focused on the distant hills. “I had something good there. Wish I had seen it at the time.”

“You were just a kid, Jack.”

“Listen, Gabe. I don’t want to take a damn thing for granted. Not anymore.” He drew in a shaking breath. Gabriel felt his thoughts quiver and shake, but his eyes stayed dry, changed only by the reflection of stars. “I took it for granted in LA. I should have just owned up to it, talked to you, said _something_...and I didn’t, and I ended up hundreds of miles away from wherever you were. And I tried to push it away. Tried to forget. I felt like I’d been split into pieces and you’d taken part of me with you.”

Gabriel fought to keep breathing. Throat tight, he couldn’t manage a soothing word when Jack turned his head and trapped him in the strength of his big, silvery eyes.

“And here I am and I can’t say it,” Jack said, “I’m scared that if I do, that’s the end. That it’d be goodbye. I’m not afraid of dying, but…I don’t know. I want to keep that little bit of hope alive.”

Gabriel bit down on his tongue.

Years, then, and…

He moved closer to Jack, one hand on his back, the other landing on his arm. His heart pounded, loud as thunder, shaking through his ribs and aching deep in his chest.

He pulled his eyes away when Jack turned to face him. Mouth ashy, he worked his tongue, begging his sore throat to loosen with all the strength he had left in his tired bones.

“Maybe you’re not ready…but I am.” Gabriel swallowed hard and sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself. He curled his fingers into Jack’s sweater to anchor himself and forced himself to meet Jack’s soft, surprised eyes. His heart lurched into his throat. “I love you, Jack.”

Seconds ticked by, each catching on his nerves like a pick on guitar strings. Jack’s mouth dropped open but his eyes stayed soft, his thought clear.

The words hung heavy on his shoulders. Gabriel lowered his head, dragging in a long, deep breath. Before he could start to worry about a rejection he felt fingers tug at his chin, lifting his eyes back up to Jack’s.

He was soft and clear under the stars.

Jack’s hand moved to cup the back of his neck. Gabriel breathed hard, fighting back the tears forming in his eyes, determined to focus on the warmth of Jack’s touch rather than the sudden gaping wound in his heart. “I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t risk it.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I need you to know,” Gabriel said, “You deserve to know.”

Jack moved in close enough that their noses touched. Both his hands cupped Gabriel’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Gabriel bit down on the impulse to cry, pulling it down deep into his chest, burying it under shaking muscles.

Before he could think twice about it he curled a hand in the hoodie and pulled Jack flush to his mouth, chasing away his doubt with action. Jack let out a surprised gasp before he settled into the kiss, warm and soft, the taste of ash and mint toothpaste sharp on his tongue.

Time moved to a stop as Jack’s hands pushed into his hair. Gabriel was surrounded by _him_ , the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat of his body, and no matter how much closer he got it wasn’t enough, wouldn’t be enough.

He had to be sure he _knew._ Had to be louder than just words.

“Lucky Thirteen!”

Glass shattered, breaking the spell. Gabriel pulled away from Jack to see Lewis and Carson, both doubled over, thumping each other on the backs. Broken glass sparkled on the roof at their feet. Lewis straightened, grinning so wide Gabriel’s jaw hurt just looking at him.

“You go get ‘im!”

Carson grabbed Lewis by his shirt, pulling him away with a whisper. From behind them he caught Olsen’s eye. She threw him the finger and a smile.

Before he could think to be embarrassed Jack was kissing him again, soft and smooth this time, hands on either side of his face to keep him still. Gabriel curled his hands into his sweater and sighed into the kiss, tucking his head to the side. His heart slowed as he let himself be kissed, let Jack set the pace, his nerves growing hotter with every passing moment.

He was warm when Jack pulled away to loop his arms around Gabriel’s shoulders, pulling him close. Gabriel tucked his head over his chest. Jack’s heart thundered in his ear.

Alive, they watched the stars.

-

Warmth dusted across his cheeks. Gabriel shifted, his neck sore and aching, orange burning bright against his eyelids.

The soft light chased away dreams of dark forests cut through by fast-moving rivers.

He opened one heavy eye just as pricks of cold hit his skin. Rain. Gabriel stared up into a half-overcast sky, at the thin clouds stretched low across the horizon, reducing the morning sun to a blur.

Gabriel rubbed raindrops away with his sleeve as he twisted onto a warm, slowly moving chest. Jack’s eyes were still closed, his expression peaceful. Gabriel moved one hand up to trace over the letters on his hoodie, hiding his grin behind his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Big shoutout to Ash (Kerrigore) for beta-reading once again and to Rim for offering invaluable insight.
> 
> This one's dedicated to the ones I love ♥♥♥
> 
> The song referenced at the end is California Dreamin' by The Mamas and The Papas. Yes, it's old as hell. Yes, this is the kind of music I actually like. Yes, you can judge me if you wish.


	33. Chapter 33

Gabriel missed the sting of the light rain as he followed his friends down a dusty stairwell. His mind was foggy as he stretched out his limbs and fought back yawns. He hadn’t slept long, but judging by the crick in his neck, he’d slept hard. Exhaustion dripped off his skin with each step down the stairwell, the chemical smell of the facility returning with their descent. Ahead, Jack glanced back, and the smile he wore burned hot between Gabriel’s lungs.

He hid his own smile behind his hand and hung back as the rest of their friends continued downstairs. It was late in the morning; staff were bound to have noticed their absence, and no one wanted to deal with the lecture that was sure to come. Jack was the only one who seemed wholly unconcerned about the prospect.

They’d lived to see another day. What would a lecture be?

Jack lingered a few steps down, one hand on the rail to brace his weight, handsome in blue.

Heart pounding, Gabriel waited until their friends voices faded. Jack turned back, extending one hand. Gabriel laced their fingers together and followed him down the stairs, his body suffused with warmth despite the cold. 

-

To his surprise, nothing greeted them at the med wing doors.

Behind glass he caught no movement of nurses or techs, nor even of other patients. At Jack’s insistence they slipped through the doors and turned down toward their hall, only to find a mess of an overturned cart, contents spilled out across the floor.

“Someone must’ve tripped when the power went out,” Jack chuckled, toeing at the edge of a cracked and leaking bottle. He gave it a kick. It rolled across the tile and clinked against the wall. 

Further down, Gabriel almost slipped on a pile of loose papers, caught at the last second by Jack. It wasn’t until they rounded the last hall to their room when he caught of the flash of a white labcoat.

He recognized her as Jack’s nurse—a quick scan of her nametag gave him  _ St. Clair— _ though she looked leagues different than she had the day before. Her hair was frazzled and unkempt, only half of it still up in a loose bun, and circles had set under her eyes. Long night. She straightened and offered a wave as they approached. “Seventy-six. Thirteen.”

There was no hint of an accusation in her voice, only a low, droning note of fatigue. It settled oddly in Gabriel’s gut but he swallowed it down as he untangled his fingers from Jack’s, slowly, hoping the action wouldn’t spark any attention. Her gaze didn’t waver. 

“Someone get loose?”

His joke got nothing but a blank stare. She shuffled her feet, soles squeaking annoyingly against the tile. “You should probably get back to your room. I just brought you both breakfast.”

Gabriel glanced at the clock down the hall. It wasn’t much past their usual breakfast time.

“Come on, now.” She gestured with a little lazy wave of her hand and turned on her heel. Despite the insistence in her voice her movements remained slow, fatigued. She didn’t bother picking around the mess on the floor. Papers and packs of bandages were left to the mercy of her white tennis shoes. 

Their room was how they’d left it, the only mess a blanket pooled on the floor. Two trays of food that looked slightly less pathetic than the usual sat on the middle table. Gabriel’s mouth watered when the smell of fresh coffee hit him.  _ Real _ coffee, not that watered down shit he’d grown used to, or, god forbid, instant.

He practically leapt onto his bed and grabbed for it. The nurse simply watched, unamused even as Jack let out a little laugh.

Jack copied him, sitting down on the edge of his bed and reaching to pick at the dry toast. 

Eggs and bacon and toast, with a lump of what might’ve been applesauce. Strange addition. 

“So.” Gabriel swallowed the first of his coffee black, just to get a proper taste of it, before starting on the little packets of cream and sugar left on his tray. “When’s she gonna get here?”

The nurse lifted her eyes, looking at him through long, dark lashes. “Who?”

“Deschamps.” Gabriel clinked his spoon against the rim of his cup. The nurse remained still, not nervous or anxious in the slightest, or perhaps she was simply too exhausted to care.

Jack coughed. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Someone must’ve noticed we weren’t here.”

St. Clair’s mouth twitched. “I did,” she mumbled. “I told Dr. Hale. Didn’t really care to get in more trouble for myself, you know.”

Jack twisted back toward his plate, mumbling an apology as he stuffed toast into his face.

The nurse simply rolled her eyes. “He figured it best to let you both be, considering.”

_ Considering we were supposed to die, _ Jack supplied in a flash of red. Gabriel scoffed and Jack smirked back. The nurse’s gaze tracked between them, hollow, uncaring.

She simply watched as he and Jack started on their breakfast. Jack’s thoughts mimicked his own. Gabriel had thought he was paranoid, once, but compared to the scenarios running through Jack’s head—most of them ridiculous—his thoughts were tame.

Jack was calm in appearance despite the mess in his head.

_ What do you think happened here? _ Gabriel thought the words as loudly as he could. It felt ridiculous, but there was  _ some _ way it had to work. The system was built for it. There had to be a trigger for it, like any weapon; he’d have to ask Dr. Hale for more details.

Jack didn’t respond. His thoughts continued unabated. He was working through a mental map of the medical facility, marking where the overturned cart was. 

Gabriel fought down a shiver and tried to focus on the warmth of his food instead. How were you supposed to get used to seeing the inside of someone else’s head so clearly, like their thoughts were yours?

Eerie as it was, Jack gave no indication that he’d heard Gabriel’s question. Thinking hard, he summoned an image of his backyard at random, decorated with blue and yellow lights. 

It had been a comfortably warm night, spirits lifted by a few beers and familiar music and the relief of being home. He remembered sitting with Bianca, just talking, watching friends and family mill around, some trying to dance, others sitting it out like he had. 

Jack didn’t move. 

Gabriel coughed. Jack glanced up, his thoughts slamming to a halt. St. Clair moved toward the door to peek out into the hall. 

“Relax,” Gabriel whispered, leaning forward. Jack’s eyes locked on his, dark but intent, listening. “We can talk about... _ this _ later. Right now, enjoy your coffee.”

He raised his own mug and lifted an eyebrow. Jack rolled his eyes.

“We’re on her bad side, Gabe,” Jack hissed. The nurse started to turn and he straightened, a fake smile flashing across his face until she moved halfway out the door. “This could go south fast.”

“No shit.” Gabriel tucked his chin into his palm, fighting down a grin at the memory of Olsen’s perfect left hook. She would be on Deschamps’ list now, too. “Eat your breakfast. Relax.”

_ While you can. _

St. Clair returned, heaving a drawn-out sigh. “I’ve just paged him. We’ll get you both checked out. Though you don’t look in good enough shape for the sims today.”

“A day off would be fine,” Jack mumbled.

St. Clair bent her head in a nod. “I’ll see what I can bring down for you. There are some board games in the staff room. Not much else.”

Gabriel chewed on the last of his toast, listening as Jack attempted to start up a conversation with the nurse about some board game he’d never heard of in his life. If he was gonna spend another whole day in a hospital room, a book would be nice. A book or maybe a TV with actual channels instead of an endless stream of bad movies.

He asked for paper and a pen instead and she left with a nod, dragging her feet as she shuffled through the door.

-

His attempts at writing a letter home were stalled by a steady input of nurses, techs, and doctors, all who wore the same quiet look of wonder as their tests came back clear. His ribs were healed. No concussion. All that remained was a dull ache in the right side of his chest, where his lung had been punctured and repaired, and a throbbing pain where a bullet had barely missed his heart.

With the painkillers worn off he felt it all far too acutely and struggled to focus on his penmanship. 

He’d just signed his name on a letter that was far too messy to send home when a nurse handed him a stack of towels and a starchy change of clothes and gave him directions to the showers. Jack barely glanced up from his board game—not the one he’d wanted, and he was still trying to sort out the rules—promising his nurse he’d go in just a second.

Gabriel didn’t wait. He wound through the halls, raking a hand through his hair, thinking of how nice hot water would feel on his aching neck. He paused where a few pills were scattered across the floor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d showered, or even the last time he’d had a proper moment to himself.

The showers were empty, lights shut off. The smell of chlorine lingered. It was cleaner than the showers they’d been using upstairs, but the lights were dim and flickered when he hit the switch. A row of three pedestal sinks sat across from a low wooden bench. Further back there were five shower stalls, each walled off with a beige plastic curtain.

He set his soaps inside before plopping down on the bench to untie his shoes. He hazarded a glance back toward the door, searching under the gap for a sudden shadow. Jack was far behind.

That was more than okay. He didn’t need Jack to see him, not right now, not with fresh scars written across his skin.

Gabriel curled fingers in the back of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Cool air ran over his skin, setting his hair on edge. A shiver slowly dragged up his spine. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror; they’d shaved away half his chest hair, leaving his newest scar on full display. He tore his gaze away and shuffled behind the beige curtain, beaded with moisture.

Under a spray of lukewarm warm the thoughts dissipated. 

Gabriel simply stood under the shower head, still and quiet, aware of nothing more than the sound of his own heart, his own breathing, the steady rush of water. He leaned forward to direct the spray over the back of his neck where the ache was centered, fingers following, smoothing from his neck to his shoulders. He dug in hard enough for it to hurt. His muscles were bunched up and stiff as hell.

With a sigh, he dropped his hands to pick up his shampoo. The smell was artificial and floral, but it was better than the reek of chemicals that had sunk into his skin.

The door creaked open when he was busy scrubbing his skin raw with a starchy washcloth and a bar of soap that smelled more than grass than anything else. He knew it was Jack, could feel it from the burst of yellow that crept into his head, only to fade out a second later. Gabriel listened hard, stalled with the washcloth over the back of his neck. 

The shower next to his started with a hiss. Jack was only a foot away, but with a tiled wall between them, he saw only his thoughts, calmed for the moment

He braced his arm against the shower wall. Words were lost in the hiss of water. Gabriel didn’t bother trying to respond. He cranked the tap and waited, apprehensive, for the water to turn scalding, but the shock never came, the water remaining tepid. With a sigh he straightened. The ache in his neck throbbed, but he did his best to ignore it as he scrubbed the rest of his body, carefully avoiding his puffy new scars.

Jack was done in what could only have been five minutes at the most. Gabriel didn’t rush. Something clung to his skin, thick and heavy, and the shitty hospital soap wasn’t doing enough to get it off him.

The sickly smell of chlorine hung in the mist that filled the shower stall. From behind the beige plastic curtain one of the sinks started.

He watched water swirl around the drain. He blinked and for a moment it was black, only to run clear again. Gabriel rubbed a hand over his mouth and gave his head a shake.

Side effect of the drugs, or it was the shitty sleep he’d been getting.

Water sluiced down his back. Gabriel rubbed at his eyes. In a few weeks he’d be twenty-three, but he already felt far older, like the war had carved deep wounds under his skin. Gabriel leaned forward to bump his head against the cool tile wall. 

The roar of the shower filled his ears. For many long breaths Gabriel stood with his head under the spray, blinking water away from his eyes, too bone-tired to move.

Eyes closed he drifted, the pressure on his back evening out to a dull haze. The shower ceased to exist. He was lost in blackness, senses smoothed over, worn down.

In the dark mint green moved around him.

Gabriel pulled one hand down his face, rubbing at his jaw. Tentatively he touched his wet skin, trailing rough callouses down the scar in the center of his chest.

Patched up and good to go, just like that. Walking around like nothing had fucking happened, like a goddamn  _ machine _ hadn’t tried to crush him just days before, like his blood wasn’t swarming with smaller machines keeping him alive.

He ran a hand down his side, feeling over his ribs, focusing on the stretch and pull of his breaths. 

Alive. Very much  _ alive. _

A sharp whistle took his thoughts and snapped them into pieces. He lifted his head to listen to the tune. Jack always did have a song stuck in his head; this one was sweet and nostalgic, somehow, even if he didn’t recognize it.

He felt it under his skin, warm. For a moment he forgot mint green.

Gabriel cranked the shower off but didn’t move even as cold air lapped over his damp skin. Jack’s whistling stopped, only to turn into a hum and then a murmur. Talking to himself. Maybe he’d nicked himself shaving.

Water dripped from his body, loud against the tile, like bullets against a metal chassis—

He fought back a shiver and wrapped his arms around himself. Giving his head a shake, he elected to speak, to force his mind away from metal glinting under artificial lights.

“Hey, Jack?”

The silence kept on. Gabriel’s heart pounded in his ears. Throat tight, he was about to speak again when someone moved on the other side of the curtain. The tap shut off. 

“Yeah?”

“We alone?”

The door creaked. Gabriel waited, tense, until it slammed shut in the frame. 

“Yeah,” Jack said, “Halls are empty.”

“Alright. You got theories?”

Footsteps. Gabriel stilled as he felt Jack approach, heart racing by the time his shadow moved in front of the beige curtain. “Got a few,” Jack mumbled, “But there wasn’t anyone else down here last night.” He paused. His thoughts swirled in dark green. “Not that I remember.”

“Yeah, I didn’t see anyone. Could’ve been leftover from the power outage.”

“Probably.”

“Hell of mess, though,” Gabriel muttered, “It’s so goddamn quiet.”

He raked a hand through his wet curls. The bathroom was dead silent for a long breath. The whole of the basement was eerie, far too empty for such a large space, like the six-hundred people upstairs didn’t exist. Like they were in a different building altogether.

Hopefully they’d be discharged by the end of the day. He was aching to see their friends again, to talk to someone other than nurses, doctors, and techs.

He hadn’t really been able to talk to Jack, though, not since the night before, when he’d bared his heart under the stars.

“You trust him?”

“Who?”

“Dr. Hale.”

Gabriel chewed on his tongue. He ran a hand down his chest, curving around the ugly scar. If he stood there much longer without a towel he’d start to freeze. “Got no reason not to.”

“Could be a good liar,” Jack muttered. “I thought...I thought Deschamps was a good one. Before.” 

The curtain rustled. Gabriel stood straight, choking back on a laugh. “When the hell did you think that?”

“I thought she was looking out for me. And don’t say it. I know how stupid that was.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, Jack. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Jack let out a sigh. “I trusted her, and then...and then she dug her way in. Guess it doesn’t matter. I just hope Dr. Hale hasn’t done the same with you.”

Paranoia wasn’t a good look on either of them. Gabriel flattened one hand against the wall. With the water shut off he could feel the vibration of the building, like a breath. Unnerving as hell.

The whole thing was fucked up without imagining that Dr. Hale was on her side, somehow. Maybe he’d been used for a petty feud between them. That much was believable; they were stuck in some kind of passive-aggressive rivalry, probably had been long before he met either of them. Deschamps was smooth, but her temper and ego had betrayed her more than enough times to be certain of her character. Dr. Hale had wanted them to find out what Deschamps was doing. Maybe he didn’t care about  _ them _ , but he cared enough to try to get Deschamps out of the program, and that was something. 

He’d tried to save Gabriel’s life. Had risked everything for him, and…

Or he  _ was _ just as good of a liar as Jack seemed to think, and Gabriel was a goddamn fool for believing him.

Gabriel gave his head a shake, rubbing one hand through his beard. The cold of the shower pushed in on him from all sides, heavy upon his skin. He shivered. It felt dirty, unclean, and his mind roiled with thoughts better left alone. 

He had his hand on the tap when Jack spoke.

“Forget I said anything.” 

A pause, lengthy, heavy. Gabriel wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill as he waited, unease bubbling under his skin. 

“Whatever happened down here...doubt we’re gonna get any answers unless we go looking for them,” Jack said, “Gotta be a terminal somewhere. Nurse’s lounge, maybe. Might be something we can dig up.”

“If they’ve bothered to log anything,” Gabriel muttered, “How long was the power out?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s still early.” Gabriel ran a hand over his arm. His skin was freezing, now, but he didn’t move. “We should just  _ ask _ him.” He paused, throat tight, the words swilling around on his tongue. He put them in order and spat them out, far too bitterly: “If you think we can trust him at all.”

Jack shuffled on the other side of the curtain. Gabriel froze up, half-turned, one eye stuck on the brief glimpse of Jack’s shadow.

“Let’s just drop this,” Jack sighed, “Got better things to think about.”

“Like what?”

There it was again, bitterness. Gabriel chewed on his tongue. Something sour had settled in his gut. He rubbed his hands over his upper arms, feeling far too naked for such thoughts. 

A light, airy laugh was the last thing Gabriel expected. The hairs on his arms rose. He glanced over his shoulder. Jack moved behind the curtain. Moving away, probably to sit. “You finish that letter?”

“It’s a bit of a mess.”

“I think…” Jack trailed off, but Gabriel felt the end in a soft wave of yellow, hopeful, but sad.  _ I’d like to send a letter to my grandparents. _

“You should. Try, anyway,” Gabriel muttered. 

Footsteps. Jack was back on his feet. The sink started again. Gabriel imagined that maybe he’d only half-finished shaving, or maybe, he was just giving him a little space. It shut off soon enough to quell the thought.

A little space was fine, but what he needed was to get  _ out _ , even if it was only to the little ravine behind the building. Fresh air, a bit of sun, even the rain would be welcome on his skin, if it was even still raining.

No; what he need was to go  _ home _ . To see that little shaded street in Santa Monica, to walk in the door of his house and drop his bag and coat on the floor. To flop back on a bed that’d be too small for him, now, and finally get some proper sleep.

God, at this point, he’d settle for going back to their facility, where he could finally get the chemical smell out of his skin.

Maybe another trip, if they could manage it. If Jack wanted to see his grandparents, then…

“So.” One syllable and Gabriel’s thought ended where it began. Turning, he stared at the back of the plastic curtain, imagining how Jack might be sitting on the other side. The tenseness in his voice suggested that he was worrying his lip between his teeth, or that he had his hands in his hair. Whatever the connection between them was, it didn’t really give him a visual. “How’re we feeling, Gabe?”

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t a simple question. Gabriel bristled under the weight of it. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

Why wouldn’t he be? Gabriel sucked in a deep breath to steady himself and ran a hand over his chest, over the ugly scar. They were both alive, and though things could go south again at any moment, like Jack had said earlier, they had a little time to themselves.

The night before had brought him peace. He could still feel the edges of it in his chest, bittersweet, now.

The words slipped out of his mouth before he could reel them in and sat cold in his stomach, weighted, sickening. “We almost died, Jack.”

Jack’s silence dragged on. Gabriel’s throat swelled with each passing second

“Yeah. We got close,” Jack said.

The thickness in his voice stung like knives in his back. In the sudden white flurry of his thoughts, Gabriel couldn’t pick any one thing out. More on Jack’s mind, then, more things to worry about.

“Every damn day,” Gabriel whispered, “Every goddamn day is another day I’m not with them.”

Jack inhaled sharply, the sound grating on Gabriel’s nerves. He clamped a hand over his mouth, begging himself to shut up, to let it go, but unease trickled over his skin. They’d come so goddamn close, and now, with the smell of chemicals and soap surrounding him in a cold shower stall, it was all too  _ real _ , too heavy, the weight bracing down on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel barely managed to squeeze the words out of his constricting throat.

“For what?”

“What happens if I’m too late?” Gabriel drew in a shaky breath, bracing himself against the shower wall, against the rapidly growing pain in his chest. His heartbeat quickened despite Jack’s silence. Gabriel focused on the pain of teeth on his tongue rather than the voice in his head, mocking him for being so foolish, so fucking  _ weak _ — “What happens if at the end of the day, all the time we’ve wasted here counts for nothing? What if none of it makes a fucking difference? Then what? What will I go home to?” Gabriel clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress the sudden bolt of fear in his gut. “—What if I don’t have a home to go back to?”

A sob rolled over him, sudden as thunder on a clear night, aching in his bones, prickling under his skin. He raked a hand over his shoulder, pressing his nails in hard enough to hurt, but tears stung at his eyes despite the distraction.

“Can I come in?” Jack’s voice had grown quieter, though a panicked note still rung through his question. 

His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Gabriel swallowed thickly, working past the pressure in his throat to form one simple word: “Yeah.”

Plastic crinkled. Gabriel didn’t move, all too aware of the fact that he was wholly vulnerable. He stared straight ahead at the water droplets clinging to the tiles, willing his throat to loosen, begging himself to say something more, to stop fucking crying for just a second.

The gentle touch of fingers against the back of his neck stopped his breathing cold. Gabriel screwed his eyes shut and froze, body rigid. Jack’s touch disappeared and all too soon he was desperate for it to return; the only spot of warmth in the cold shower.

“I…” Jack trailed off. Gabriel was dimly aware of movement behind him, the rustle of soft fabric.

He had to speak. Had to say  _ something. _

He forced himself to turn, arms wrapped around his chest to hide his scars and his heart. Jack stood with the curtain shoved aside on one arm, fully dressed, his skin still reddened from the shower and his hair damp. He held out a towel, almost sheepishly, keeping his distance. Gabriel stared at the offer.

“I’m selfish, Jack.” The words dropped straight to the floor. Jack’s eyes, so much like mirrors, threw his reflection back. The cold creeped over his skin. Moving slowly, he walked into Jack’s chest, dropping his forehead against his shoulder. He let out a shaking breath, relief unwinding from the stiff knot deep in his chest. “I want to forget about this war and go home. Maybe that makes me a coward.”

“You’re not a coward, Gabe.”

Jack looped the towel over his shoulders, and then he was wrapped up in warm arms, big hands stretching out across his back. Gabriel blinked hot tears away from his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist in turn, grabbing fistfuls of his white t-shirt.

He held onto Jack, knees trembling. Shaky breaths rattled in his lungs. Jack smelled like that horrible grassy soap, too, but Gabriel buried his nose in the crook of his neck anyway, feeling his pulse against his skin.

“Aren’t I?” Gabriel tightened in grip in Jack’s shirt, hands trembling to match the shake in his voice. “I used to be good at this. I used to know what I had to do.” 

 

This was what he’d signed up for. He’d knowingly walked through the recruitment office doors, alone, gut wrenched, focused ahead on what little he could do. The war hadn’t ended after those first strikes, like some had predicted. It wasn’t confined to the United States. 

He was just one of thousands, at first: nothing more than a soldier.

Now what was he? 

Things could’ve been different. He could have signed up to volunteer for reconstruction, instead, might have never left Los Angeles. A hammer in the hand could do as much as a gun. In a lot of ways, it did more. But Omnics could chew up and spit out a city in weeks, if not days, and he’d felt he had to give more.

He could still see the fear in his parent’s eyes when he gave them the news and the date he’d leave home.

Frankie’s light, airy laugh, bent by a snort at the end, drifted through his head, so visceral and real that his heart kicked up in his chest. Gabriel stiffened as Jack’s arms relaxed around him, big hands soothing down his spine.

Pale morning light filtered through the kitchen window. Too many people to all sit at one table, so Gabriel sat with his sisters and Jack and those of Bianca’s friends who’d stayed the night, all still in pajamas, some with their hair still wrapped. Coffee had dulled a mild hangover, but in spite of the haze, everything was laid out clearly: the empty plates on the table, his sister’s big smiles, and him at the centre of it all, tired and weary but content, big brown eyes stealing glances out the window at the rising sun.

The memory was three years old now but it was clear in Jack’s mind. Across the table, he saw a grin flash across his own face, felt something yellow bloom in Jack’s chest when the sun caught his eyes just right and turned them from brown to bronze. 

Gabriel pulled back to stare into Jack’s eyes. The image faded fast, his sister’s laughter gone.

“You aren’t weak, Gabe.” Jack stepped closer, his nose brushing Gabriel’s, hands moving from the small of his back up his shoulderblades. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad this war hasn’t changed you.”

“You don’t think it has?” Gabriel shot back, far too bitter, voice still thick and heavy from the ache in his chest. “Look at where we are.”

“I’m looking at  _ you _ ,” Jack said. He moved back, putting cold space between them, one hand lifted to his jaw. Gabriel leaned into the touch, his own hands sliding down Jack’s waist to rest on his hips. He was solid under his hands, unquestionably real. The lopsided smile on his face stole his breath away. “The beard is a change, but that’s all I can see.”

“It’s an improvement,” Gabriel muttered.

Jack lowered that smile to his cheek in a kiss. Gabriel stopped breathing, focused intently on the way his nerves lit up like livewires. Jack kissed along his cheekbone, down his jaw, trailing up to his nose. When he pulled back his expression was level and serious. For a moment his gaze lingered on the tile walls before he moved out of the shower stall, rustling the curtain.

Gabriel pulled the towel tight around his shoulders as Jack moved toward the bench and bent down to retrieve a stack of clothes. He returned with them in hand. “Remember what you told me yesterday?”

He snatched his clothes from Jack’s grasp, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

Jack let the curtain close. Gabriel rubbed his eyes before he ran the towel through his hair. He was already cold and half-dry.

When he stepped out of the shower stall Jack was seated on the bench, head down, one hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. Jack unfolded to loop an arm around his shoulders, pulling them flush.

He rested his head on Jack’s shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing slowly, the quiet soft.

“You aren’t weak because you miss home,” Jack said, “You’ve been away so long.”

“Yeah.” Three years and counting, almost. It had gone so fast and felt like so long at the same time, stretching wide in his head. “Sometimes I…it’s stupid, but sometimes I miss how it was a few months back. When everything was new.” 

All slanted light through tall windows. New faces, stories he had yet to learn, uncertainty ahead. 

He’d always like having a problem to solve. SEP had certainly proven challenging.

“Even Oregon,” Gabriel continued. “I can’t believe I miss the rain. Used to hate it.”

Jack’s fingers danced up his spine. He leaned closer, nose brushing his hair. Gabriel moved against Jack’s chest, his ear against the thunder of his heart.

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep I read old letters,” Gabriel said, “Over and over. I think I have them memorized, now.” He paused, tongue pressed between his teeth. “Frankie used to draw in the margins and cover the paper with stickers. Even on Bianca’s letters.”

He smiled, remembering how Frankie had detailed home in those letters, how she’d droned on about school and friends and the pet turtle she’d talked Ma into getting. 

“You remember Paloma?”

He felt Jack nod. “Quiet. Smart.” He paused, a light laugh breaking up his breaths. “Oldest sister, right?”

“Yeah. She’s an aircraft tech.” Gabriel pulled his head off Jack’s shoulder. The angle wasn’t doing his sore neck any favors. “I missed her wedding.” Frankie had sent him pictures, but there was a gap in their family line up where he belonged. “Last I heard she’d just found out she was pregnant. I might already be an uncle.”

“Gabe, that’s—”

Jack stopped cold. Gabriel couldn’t blame him. “I miss it like hell.”

“I know, Gabe. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I can’t change it,” Gabriel said, “I just have to wait it out. Last few years went fast, maybe these will, too.”

He swallowed down the impulse to add  _ if we survive this war at all _ . He focused instead on Jack’s hand, now resting between his shoulderblades. He moved against Jack’s side, sliding a hand over his knee.

“It’s something to look forward to. Home,” Gabriel said, “A reason to keep fighting.”

He had to focus on the good, or what did he have? 

Doubt clouded in the back of his head. Gabriel chewed on the thoughts before he spoke, careful with his wording. “They had a good idea, here. They could’ve played it safe, bided their time, and it cost them. Cost us. Imagine the difference a few hundred super soldiers could make out on the field.”

Jack nodded. “Would’ve been something to see. Not as flashy as a front line of Crusaders, though.”

“Maybe we’ll get some kind of uniform.”

“Maybe.”

“You’d look good in a set of armor.” Jack leaned in, placing a solid kiss on his cheekbone. Gabriel squirmed under the attention as Jack’s arms wrapped tight around him, pulling him flush. Warmth flooded his veins as Jack’s lips moved down his neck, light and playful, stopping at his collar.

Jack looked up at him through sandy eyelashes. Gabriel prodded his forehead. “What?”

“I was wondering if I’ve ever told you how handsome you are.”

“You don’t just like me for my charm?”

Jack snorted. Gabriel swept a hand into short blond hair, still damp from the shower. Blue eyes fluttered closed as Jack moved onto his shoulder, arms loosening around his waist. “Few reasons.”

Jack’s mouth was on his a spare second after the words left him. Something bright and orange spread through Gabriel’s body where Jack was touching him, growing hotter as Jack kissed him like he was so sure of how it had to be done. 

A warm hand slid over his jaw, pulling him closer to the heat of Jack’s mouth. Gabriel pushed back against him, running both hands into his hair. Before his lit nerves could burst into a fire sharp footsteps cracked the silence. Jack popped off the bench, face reddened, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, as the bathroom door slapped open.

St. Clair stooped in the frame, eyes glazed over, wholly uninterested. “Dr. Marshall is waiting for you,” she said, “Five minutes.”

The door slammed shut. Jack shuffled toward the sinks to collect his toiletry bag.

Gabriel slid behind him, pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, hands on his waist. “You can boost my ego later, Blondie.”

He didn’t wait up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to rim and orla for helping me out with this chapter, which took far too long, and far too many drafts.
> 
> thanks for reading!   
> skiesovertatooine.tumblr.com


	34. Chapter 34

“You can’t use curse words in scrabble, Jack.”

Jack pursed his mouth thoughtfully, eyes scanning over the word _fuck._ He reached for the rules booklet, squinting at the tiny print. “Why not? It’s in the dictionary.”

Five rows into the game, Gabriel wanted to roll over and take a nap. A stack of board games sat on the end of his bed. He’d won Battleship, Monopoly, and chess, though that wasn’t much of a feat: Jack hadn’t played any of the games since he was a kid.

They’d wasted hours like this, mindful of the eyes on them. Dr. Marshall had arrived only to give them each a handle of pills, but why a nurse couldn’t have done that, Gabriel didn’t know. St. Clair was back in the chair in the corner, the last of them, half asleep and murmuring under her breath.

Still no word from Deschamps or Dr. Hale. Probably trapped in a meeting with the coordinators. Maybe one last-ditch attempt to save the program from termination.

Jack set down the rules, mouth tucked up into a pout. One by one he picked the letter tiles off the board. “Okay,” he sighed, “Maybe you were right. Well—” He frowned at his letters. Gabriel could hear him call them out in his head: _f-u-c-k-a-t-e._

“Faucet,” Gabriel said.

Jack glanced up at him. “What?”

“That’s your word.” Gabriel tapped at the board, where an open A waited. “Pretty good score.”

“Isn’t that kinda like cheating?” Jack grinned at him, tone light, teasing. He shifted on his bed to sit cross-legged, his word tray carefully balanced on one thigh. He fidgeted with one of the tiles, eyes bright, focused. “How do you spell that?”

St. Clair let out a little snore. Gabriel glanced back at her, slumped down in the corner chair under the clock. The afternoon was moving fast, but not fast enough: still no word on a discharge. Gabriel wasn’t sure _what_ they were waiting for. He was fine, and Jack was better, though both of them could’ve used a bit more sleep. Fatigue rested on his shoulders, but he could ignore it for now, indulge Jack’s whims. Not like they had anything better to do; he’d drafted another letter home and helped Jack write one, though his was far shorter, just one page.

Not like they’d be able to send them, but something about it was nice, reassuring. It reminded him of days in Oregon, laid out on his stomach in a tent pen in hand, the heavy smell of rain and forest surrounding him.

“Gabe?”

“Huh?”

Jack was staring at him, one eyebrow raised, half his tiles set out on the board. “We can play something else if you’re bored.”

“We’ve exhausted all our options.”

Jack glanced at the stack of games piled on the floor. “We could listen to music.”

“You wanna wake her up?”

Jack’s eyes tracked back to St. Clair. He shrugged. “We could listen very quietly, I guess.”

“How about another kind of game?”

“Oh?”

“I want to figure out whatever...this is.” Gabriel gestured loosely. Jack frowned back at him. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “There’s gotta be a trigger for it, somehow.”

“You mean how you can see through me?”

There was a faint note of bitterness in Jack’s voice despite his small smile. Gabriel swallowed hard, nodding. “It can’t just go one way. Program wasn’t perfect, but that’s a pretty big malfunction.”

“Yeah.” Jack set down the last of his tiles on the board. They hadn’t gotten far into the game, not that Gabriel minded much. “How do you want to test this?”

Gabriel pulled the tiles off the board, mindful of Jack’s eyes on him. “I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.” He set the board and the pieces back in the box and leaned over the bed to place it on the floor. “I tried earlier. Got nothing.”

“Tried...what?”

“Thinking,” Gabriel said, “Out loud.”

He shifted on the bed, sitting cross-legged to mirror Jack. He held out one hand, sparing a glance at the nurse. Still asleep. Jack’s hand was cold, but Gabriel didn’t complain as he loosely laced their fingers together.

“I can’t see everything in your head,” Gabriel said, “In case you were wondering.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped. “I was. Yeah.”

Gabriel gave his hand a squeeze. A little smile spread over his mouth. “You were thinking about Los Angeles, earlier.”

“I was hoping you’d see it,” Jack whispered. He lowered his eyes, smile widening. “So, how do you wanna do this? Just think real hard and wait for me to figure it out? How do _you_ do it?” Jack cocked his head, eyes trailing to the ceiling. “Or is it on my end?”

“You want me to ask Dr. Hale for a manual?”

Jack yanked his hand away to clap it over his mouth, too slow to cover a snort. Gabriel didn’t think it was that funny, but Jack’s laughter seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Let’s start small.”

“Okay.” Jack shifted on the bed, moving back against his stack of pillows. “I’ll go first?”

“Sure.”

Jack’s eyes closed. He leaned back, expression softening. “Okay.”

Gabriel waited. He wasn’t sure what for, exactly; words or a picture or maybe just a feeling that only made sense as a color. He got nothing but a clear head. Jack remained peaceful, expressionless.

He prodded at the bottom of Jack’s foot. He started with a grunt, one eye cracking open. “What?”

“Are you even trying?”

“I’m _waiting_ ,” Jack hissed.

“You just said you were gonna go first.”

“I am.”

“So, is this not working, or—”

“Not on my end,” Jack muttered. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. _Hard enough to keep my head clear, how’s he expect—_

“There,” Gabriel said. He grabbed for Jack’s socked foot again; he let out an annoyed whine and pulled his legs away. “There. I heard that.”

“I’m supposed to be in your head,” Jack grumbled.

“Well, fuck. How were you just thinking that? Just now.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “I just thought it.”

“Yeah, but _how_?” Gabriel snuck a quick look at the nurse. Still asleep, even though they were getting loud. He flopped onto his side on the bed, stretching out. The bed was too small to give either of them any room. “You wanted me to see the house earlier. You made that consciously happen, right? So how were you thinking about it?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Jack mumbled. “I’m not good with words.”

“Let me try something out, then. Okay?”

Jack eyed him warily, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Close your eyes. Try not to think about it.”

Jack fell back onto his pillow, eyes closed, mouth scrunched into a pout. He folded his hands over his chest.

“Relax. You look like you’re dead,” Gabriel whispered.

Jack glared at him from his stack of pillows, face slightly reddened. Embarrassed or frustrated. “Let’s just do this.”

He closed his eyes and turned away onto his side. Gabriel stared at his back, instead, tracing the grooves in the folds of his t-shirt, following the pace of his breathing.

They’d managed it, once: he could still feel the chill of the basement on his skin, could hear Jack’s father’s thunderous footsteps upstairs. Subconsciously, both of them had opened to each other. Gabriel fought through his memories, shifting through them like sand. He couldn’t remember if he’d dreamed the night before at all, but they’d both been exhausted.

He’d felt it like he was there.

He suppressed a shiver. Reaching out, he gently touched the small of Jack’s back. He was warm and soft to the touch, but the sound he made was displeased. Gabriel pulled his hand away.

This was getting to Jack. He’d been in a great mood earlier, but it was obvious he didn’t like being cooped up. Guy probably would die for a chance to go running.

Maybe he could try Jack’s game, first.

He thought. Hard. Images filtered through his head. What was he supposed to think about? How would he project it? Chewing on his lip, he decided on something simple.

In late fall, it had been beautiful; rust-red mountains surrounding the complex, the sun diffused by a constant canopy of soft clouds, scattered rain, and strong winds. It had been cold enough to warrant a sweater most mornings. Their shoes would hit the track long before the sun rose to paint the sky orange.

He used to hate running, but with Jack—side by side, breaths pooling out into the chilly air, minds blank, both silent—he’d looked forward to it, even started getting up the same time every morning instead of closing the door in Jack’s face and taking another fifteen.

There’d been peace out there in every stride.

“You falling asleep or something?” Jack grumbled.

He opened one eye to stare at Jack, who was twisted around, one eyebrow raised. He didn’t look happy in the slightest. Really annoyed, now.

“No. I was thinking,” Gabriel muttered, “That’s the whole idea here, Jack.”

“This is pointless.”

“Relax.”

Jack bolted off the bed so fast the bed rocked to the side. He moved toward the bathroom, hands wound into his hair. A low hissed cursed escaped between his teeth before the door closed, leaving Gabriel alone in the room with the sleeping nurse.

He sat up, feet hanging above the floor. A trail of red followed Jack.

Pissed off, that was obvious, but Gabriel wasn’t sure what he’d done. Poor wording? Had he pressed too much? He shook the thoughts out of his head as he got to his feet. He pressed a hand against the door, eye on the nurse, who was snoring softly now with her head tucked against the wall.

“Jack,” he said, “What’s going on?”

The door jerked away from him. Jack stood in the frame, mouth twisted up, eyes hard. He reached out for Gabriel and pulled him in, closing the door tight behind them. “Sorry. I’m acting like an asshole,” he mumbled, “This is getting the best of me.”

No shit.

Jack moved toward the sink, leaning back against it, arms crossed. “I’m not much of a natural at anything. Not like you are, I guess.”

“What?”

Jack pulled his eyes away. “Can we try again?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Gabriel leaned back against the door, hands shoved into his pockets. “You get anything, tell me. Okay?”

He went right back to the track. Ahead, Olsen and Kowalski kicked up dust. He was starting to slow, breathing ragged, sweat dripping down his brow. It was a good test of their endurance, but even super soldiers got tired, eventually. He was thinking about the book left open on his bed when Jack lightly grabbed his arm, breathing hard, bringing them both down to a slow, easy jog. Jack’s smile caught the weak, diffused morning light. He’d said something, but Gabriel couldn’t remember what.

They’d walked it off and plopped down in the grass side by side, Jack’s hand still on his arm.

Jack shuffled on his feet. Gabriel pulled himself out of the memory, blinking hard to recollect himself.

“Anything?”

“No.”

“Alright, let me—”

“Can we drop this? For now, anyway.” Jack pushed away from the sink, striding to the opposite side of the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I want to figure this out, but I’m just...” He gestured loosely with one hand before running his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up straight. “I hate sitting still. Waiting. I feel trapped.”

“I’ll wake her up, see if we can get some fresh air—”

“No.” Jack’s hand shot out for his wrist. He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning in close. “I hate having them watch us. I’d rather stay here with her. Asleep.” Jack stared at the back of the door. Gabriel couldn’t hear a damn thing from outside. Slowly, Jack relaxed, grip loosening. “Maybe we should keep trying,” he mumbled, “I don’t know.”

“You’re overthinking this.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Jack chewed on his lip.

Jack let his hand stay on Gabriel’s wrist, his touch light, thumb rubbing over his palm. He stared at the floor, eyes hard, almost like he expected to find answers there. He stayed quiet. Gabriel didn’t feel for his thoughts, determined to allow him some privacy.

“I don’t like feeling watched,” Jack mumbled, “But if she wakes up and we’re both in here they’ll get suspicious.”

He lifted hard, silver eyes. Gabriel gave his hand a weak squeeze, sensing the dismissal before it came.

“I’d like to be alone.”

“Sure.” Gabriel forced a smile. In the mirror, it looked as fake as it felt. “You know where to find me.”

“I just need a few minutes of quiet,” Jack said. He hopped up on the counter, swinging his feet, smiling a little. “Then maybe let’s try Jenga.”

Gabriel lingered in the doorway. After a long moment, he gave a nod.  “Better get ready to lose, Farm Boy.”

“Been awhile since I’ve heard that one.”

Gabriel closed the door carefully. St. Clair had slumped over onto the armrest, one arm flung over her face. His neck ached just looking at her. He popped up onto his bed, laying down flat. He stared at the ceiling, inspecting the flaws in the paint, listening to the hum of air conditioning and the faint murmur of voices down the hall.

He was bored stiff in under a minute.

The quiet afforded him a few minutes to doze off. Midafternoon was always the best time to nod off, but he wasn’t really tired, just bored. Still, the backs of his eyelids were more interesting than anything else currently in the room.

Black turned into a frozen field and an open sky full of stars, cigarette smoke hanging in the air, blood sharp on his tongue.

The cold nipped at his exposed skin, but Gabriel paid it no mind.

Things could’ve been different, then. He could’ve been braver. They could’ve had a bit more time.

It ached in his chest. Gabriel opened one eye. The ceiling was blurry.

The bathroom creaked open. Jack’s head popped out, eyes wide, mouth open.

St. Clair rustled in her chair. Slowly she pulled herself off the armrest, pulling a device from her pocket to stare at the screen with barely open eyes.

Shadows moved in front of the door. Dr. Marshall entered with a crew of nurses and techs and two trays of food that actually smelled _good_. Gabriel sat up straight to accept it.

Nestled beside a bowl of pasta in white sauce was a pile of pills, one bigger than his thumbnail.

He lifted his eyes to the closest tech. The look he got in return told him he wouldn’t get any answers if he asked what they were.

Dr. Marshall offered nothing but a thin smile. Gabriel shivered under the weight of it, tearing his eyes back to his plate. He kept his head down as Jack sidled out of the bathroom to sit back on his bed, completely silent.

He felt eyes on his back as he swallowed the pills and chased them with a swig of water. St. Clair pulled her eyes away when he turned to glance at her corner. Something dark swilled in her eyes.

She was just tired.

He realized he was tired, too, after he’d finished his dinner and set the tray aside.

Eventually, Dr. Marshall left, but he could hear the nurses and techs talking outside the door. He slumped on the floor in the space between their beds, head resting back against the mattress. Jenga was about as exciting as he remembered. Jack was better at this one than the others, but he too seemed worn out, chin resting in one hand, eyes distant.

Jack lifted his chin a little, eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “What time is it?”

The clock read 1500h. Still early, then, though Gabriel felt like far more than a few hours had passed since they’d showered.

Jack covered his mouth to stifle a yawn. Gabriel’s body ached to mimic him, but he bit down on his tongue instead.

“This game isn’t as fun as I remember,” Gabriel muttered, “Maybe ‘cause neither of us are taking shots.”

“Want me to sneak out and dig something up?” A wry smile crept across Jack’s tired face. “Name your poison.”

One of the tech’s stopped in front of the cracked open door. Something in his eye was cold, calculating, like he was looking at a math problem instead of two super soldiers playing a game.

A chill ran down Gabriel’s spine. He pretended not to notice.

He did notice, however, when the tech glanced at his watch before slipping back out into the hall.

Gabriel’s eye flicked back to the clock. 1505h.

The tower wobbled when he pulled out his next piece. The threat of losing didn’t bother him. Gabriel rested his head back, closing his eyes. It felt harder to open them. Jack was staring at him, his thoughts slow, sluggish, but clear: _God, he looks so peaceful. I wonder what he’s thinking about._

Gabriel cracked a slow, lazy smile. For a moment, he forgot the watch, forgot the time, and simply let his eyes fall closed. God, he was so tired. It was numb in his arms and his legs. It took the pain that he’d been biting back on and erased it from the front of his mind completely.

When he opened his eyes again it felt like an hour had passed, but a quick glance at the clock told him it’d been only a minute. Jack was slumped over against the side table, mouth open, eyes closed. Exhausted. Gabriel unfolded his legs to prod at Jack with his foot. “Hey, Farm Boy.”

Jack grumbled something under his breath but barely moved. Gabriel let his foot rest against Jack’s thigh, too tired to pull it back.

The door creaked open. Gabriel's head rolled on the bed toward it.

Six techs entered in a line, their steps slow and calculated. Gabriel caught a flinch on St. Clair's face from where she was standing in the corner.

He gave Jack another kick. He mumbled something unpleasant under his breath, lifting his head only a fraction to glare at him through a cracked eye. "What?"

Gabriel jerked his chin in the direction of the door. Jack's eyes followed slowly, widening as he took in the row of techs who milled by the door, speaking in low tones.

He felt a jolt of fear ripple through Jack's body. His hands started to shake, but he didn't move. Gabriel pulled himself up with a groan and pasted on a fake smile.

"You bring dessert?"

One of the techs kneeled down in the space between the beds, so close Gabriel could smell his aftershave, could tell he'd had a stale cup of coffee not long ago. He lifted an eyebrow, unamused. "Shouldn't be a problem," he said, tipping his head back toward the other techs. His gaze slid over to Jack. Gabriel followed his eyes.

Jack was slumped over, out cold.

"Give it five," the tech muttered, "You got it, Raymond?"

"Yeah, I got it."

A second tech moved closer, his shadow looming over him. Gabriel bit down on his tongue, determined to focus past his fatigue. Raymond had an orange pill bottle in one hand and took his time to shake something into his palm. More horse pills.

“Here’s your dessert,” he muttered, “Enjoy.”

Gabriel didn’t care much for his tone, nor for the way the tech’s eyes bored into him like hot coals. He took the offering anyway and made a show of pretending to down it. “Alright,” he said, taking care to infuse his voice with annoyance rather than suspicion, “What’ve you got for us? More tests?” He looked past the techs toward the door. “Where’s Marshall?”

St. Clair shifted in her spot against the wall, her arms crossed so tight he could see her knuckles whiten.

Raymond beckoned to him. “Up.”

His throat tightened. Gabriel smiled anyway. “Sure.”

The second he was on his feet he had to grab the bed railing to keep his balance. Gabriel let himself sway anyway, playing up his fatigue. From the wall, St. Clair’s eyes glittered like broken glass on asphalt.

He did his best to ignore the panic that welled in his gut as two techs moved to pick up Jack, still out cold. A rough hand tightened on his arm.

“Simple tests. Nothing to worry about,” the tech said stiffly, “They’re waiting for us.”

He gave Gabriel’s arm a tug. He moved along as directed, forcing a nod, sparing only a glance behind him at Jack. He was fine, for the time being. Still breathing. That was what mattered.

“They ready for us?”

“Better be. We’re moving now.”

St. Clair caught his eye. For a moment, dazed from the drugs, time seemed to slow. The hospital room was simple enough: two beds, a half-bathroom, a medical cart tucked into one corner, a chair into another.

Her eyes flicked toward Jack, breaking the moment. Gabriel stumbled over his own feet, pulling the tech down with him as he fell to one knee, faking a sloppy smile. “Sorry,” he slurred, “Not feeling so hot.”

“No shit,” someone muttered. Gabriel kept his eyes locked on the floor, ignoring the tech’s attempts to pull him up. He had at least twenty-five kilos on the guy and knew how to use it.

A tech unhooked his arm from around Jack’s waist and bent beside him, something sharp and reflective in one hand. Gabriel knew fully well what it was but kept his gaze pointed down, waiting.

St. Clair’s foot tapped against the floor. Jack’s breathing stopped, just for a second. Gabriel couldn’t feel this thoughts, couldn’t tell if he was awake or out.

The moment came creeping over his skin like static. Like a burst of light St. Clair moved and sound ripped through the room. Gabriel shot off the floor and out of the tech’s grip to drive a fist into Raymond’s stomach. Before he’d fallen to the ground Gabriel was moving, rounding out, putting space between him and the remaining techs. Jack slumped between two of them.

Not faking. He wasn’t fucking faking. _Shit_.

The alarm screamed. Bodies moved fast, hands wrapping around his arms, his face hitting the floor. Gabriel struggled to breathe under the weight of a body on his back. He craned his head to see St. Clair dart out of the room, chased by a tech. Drops of water stung against his face. Glancing up, he realized the sprinklers were going off. Fuck.

A distorted voice crackled on Raymond’s hip. He covered his belt with his hand, muting it. “They’re inbound. Let’s move.”

All was black for a moment that felt like hours. When he opened his eyes again two of the techs had Jack between them, dragging him out the door.

Darkness swam in his head again.

Sand shifted underfoot, made scalding hot by the mid-summer sun. Gabriel breathed out a laugh as he chased Joel across the beach, boards tucked under their arms. White-crested waves waited for him, as they did every summer morning. At his side ran Olsen, Lewis, Kowalski, Carson, Khan. On his other side ran Jack, in the sweater with his name stitched into it.

They hit the water together.

-

The world was upside down and bobbing when Gabriel managed enough strength to open an eye. His ears rang with a chorus of shouts, a dulled hum, and the blare of the alarm St. Clair had set off. Dimly, he was aware of something damp and cold on his cheeks. His vision swam with the crinkle of a waterproof jacket and, lower, a fast-moving pair of boots.

Dirty tile floors moved. Gabriel's heart stopped for a moment, his reaction slowed by the heavy lead in his veins. He was moving.

His head rolled, affording him a glance of more people moving alongside his captor.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Where's the doctor?" Someone spoke between deep, wheezing breaths. Familiar, but Gabriel couldn't place the voice or catch a glimpse of his face.

"Robertson's got him."

"And where the fuck is Robertson?" A sharper voice cut in. Gabriel's blood ran cold. Deschamps.

"Shouldn't have sent him in there alone, Olivia."

"He's a seventy-year old man. If Robertson can't handle that, I've got no use for him."

His captor shrugged, jostling him. "We're all in on this."

He gave one of his arms a tug. They were bound behind his back, tight enough that the tips of his fingers were numb. Slung over some asshole's shoulder. Whoever the guy was, he wasn't one of the would-be super soldiers; the shake in his knees gave him away. Gabriel was too heavy for him.

Metal clanged against metal. The alarm doubled in volume as they moved through a door into another hall. Gabriel couldn't make sense of where they might be in the base—if they were even still on base at all.

How long had he been out?

Red glared at him from the floor. Water, disturbed by drops, drunk with the alarm light above the door. He watched it disappear behind him to be replaced by a winding set of stairs.

Metal clanged again. Light brushed over the floor. Gabriel closed his eyes, playing dead.

"Took you long enough, asshole."

"Nurse made a goddamn mess up here," Robertson grunted. Gabriel peeked an eye open to catch a glimpse of him. The brute had Dr. Hale tucked under his arm like he weighed nothing. His glasses were spidered, his mouth bloodied. "Castillo's got half the place evacuated, but I saw some soldiers getting outfitted before I hit the offices."

Deschamps' black shoe tapped against the floor. "The second they see our ride they're going to swarm us. You're ready?"

"Yeah."

"Let's quit talking and get moving," his captor spoke. He could hear the tremble of exhaustion in his voice. Promising. "Wait. Where's Phelps?"

Deschamps' shoes turned. She stalked uncomfortably close, every step neatly punctuated, even with the noise that swarmed his head. "He was just here. Where'd he go?"

Silence moved over the group massed in the hall. Gabriel kept his focus on their breathing, rather than the sickness in his stomach. Eight of them, at least, probably more with Phelps, wherever he was.

Deschamps let out a rattling sigh. "We need both of them."

"We need to get out of here," Robertson spat, "We won't survive a firefight."

"I know that."

"So what are we waiting for? Let's go."

Water ran down Gabriel's forehead and dripped to the floor. He suppressed a shiver. He had to play dead, or he lost his advantage.

Gabriel tightened his hands into fists. His body was still numb and cold, but he was alive and conscious. He could topple his captor, easy, but getting free after that?

"This isn't fucking complicated," Deschamps hissed. The metal door slapped open, hitting the wall. "I swear to god if he took a detour or a shortcut I'm going to rip him a new one."

"We should split. Wait on the roof."

"I'm not risking it."

Gabriel closed his eyes again as the group began to move, grumbling their displeasure under their breaths. No one dared to challenge her decision. Gabriel wondered what had won their loyalty: a threat, or the promise of money. Maybe both.

"You think...he..."

"Of course not," Deschamps hissed, "He was out."

"He's dangerous." Robertson's voice again. Gabriel supposed he'd know best.

"I can handle him."

They took the stairs back down the way they'd come, his captor huffing by the time they rounded out in front of the next door.

"We're running out of time. They're due here in fifteen."

"We have time. Shut up."

There was nothing but blackness on the other side of the door. Before, it had been lit in flashes of red. Gabriel realized as they moved over the threshold that the alarm was gone, too, leaving nothing but the sound of the group breathing and the slosh of shoes in water.

Gabriel strained to see. Faint reflections caught in the water on the floor. He tugged at his bindings once more, the tape digging into his wrists.

Silence draped over them, soft but cold, palpable on his skin, the tension so tight he couldn't breathe until a tech let out a groan somewhere ahead. Something smacked against something else; maybe a hand against the wall. "Switch is here somewhere."

A tight, strained sound, barely audible, sparked down the hall. Gabriel felt his captor's shoulders tense up. "You hear that?"

"Yeah, I heard it."

"Anyone got a light?"

A cellphone flashlight clicked on. The tech swept the beam across the wet floor. A wet cough broke the quiet.

"Who's there?"

"Me."

"Fuck, is that Phelps?"

Gabriel dared to lift his head, taking advantage of their distraction as the tech angled the beam up the hall, light pooling over a mess of red and white.

Broken glass glittered in a broken door. At the base of it, crouched over, was Phelps, shaking and bloodied, both his hands folded over his stomach. He lifted his head, but his weakness was obvious in his eyes. "Little help would be appreciated."

"Why? The hell happened?"

Phelps pulled his hands away. A long, thin shard of glass stuck out of him.

His captor turned away before he could study the scene further. He heard Deschamps let out a hiss, uncomfortably close, felt a hand move over his back to tangle in his shirt.

"Where's Morrison?" Her voice wavered on the question. He could almost feel the tightness in her throat, the thrum of her heart. He wanted to be sick on the floors.

Jack had done that. He'd—

"Lost track," Phelps whimpered, "We gotta get out of here."

The beam of light flicked away. Deschamps let out a hiss. "Stop that, idiot."

"He can't have gotten far."

_Gabe?_

Gabriel lifted his head. Stupid, really; he was lucky when, a breath later, no one noticed his movements.

_Gabe, are you okay?_

The light crawled across the floor. Gabriel tracked it, searching the wet floors. Nothing to note except more stray pieces of glass.

His head swam. Gabriel forced himself to focus, mouthing the words: _Where are you?_

He waited for a response to slip into place. Nothing. Shit.

_Get your head down._

Gabriel bit down on the impulse to protest aloud. His captor moved, rolling his shoulders underneath him. Gabriel could imagine he wasn't happy about the delay. "We should cut our losses. We don't have time."

"I'm not leaving without him," Deschamps snapped, "And I'm not the asshole who let him slip off."

Phelps hacked out a wet cough that sounded like an insult.

_Sorry about this, Gabe._

Before Gabriel could bite down on the question of what, water sloshed down the hall. The techs started to move. Light swept in front of them, lighting up the hall, catching Jack in the glare only a moment before he slid out, landing on his forearm.

He hit the floor hard. Gabriel blinked away cold water as bodies moved over him, shouts ringing out, the light flashing from side to side. He lifted his head in time for an elbow to connect with his cheek. He bit down on a hiss, rolling free, only to find another body under him, their annoyance made clear by a grunt.

The light snapped over them. Gabriel stared at the suddenly bright floor, panting for breath, twisting his hands behind his back. He just needed to loosen them enough to slip out, and then he could make a run for it.

That was all he could do; he was in no shape to fight, even if adrenaline was surging under his skin. Stall. He just had to stall, and those soldiers Robertson had mentioned would flood the med wing.

_Head down!_

Gabriel ducked. A cool breeze moved over the back of his neck. A moment later, a body hit the floor in front of him.

He flipped onto his back with a grunt. Jack darted out for Robertson, one fist swinging into the brute's face. Dr. Hale fell from Robertson's grip as he brought up both hands to defend himself.

Gabriel moved fast, unthinking. The light swung away, leaving him coated in darkness, the scene set before him: Jack, alone against four techs and two super soldiers. He couldn't see Deschamps. Gabriel pushed himself backward across the floor, his shoes slipping in the water. A boot hit the floor next to his head. A grunt and a wheeze followed. He scrambled for purchase, hands still trapped under him.

_Can you get him out of here?_

Gabriel lifted his head. He caught a blur of movement in the dark nearby. Someone let out a hiss.

_Gabe, please!_

"I'm up, I'm up," he groaned. Up, but he was still bound, drugged, and exhausted, and he couldn't tell where Dr. Hale was. He searched the gloom, tentatively kicking out with one foot to test for fallen bodies nearby. "Can't see shit."

Jack's voice flared bright and hot in his head, followed by a crunch: _Stay quiet and get him out of here. I’ll keep them occupied._

Gabriel gritted his teeth. He needed to get his hands free, but the only sharp thing in the hall was the piece of glass stuck into Phelps' stomach. His own gut turned with the thought. Gabriel pushed backward. Had to be another way out. Just had to be smart, had to think. There was always more than one option. He just had to find it.

Among grunts and shouts and the sick sounds of the fight he moved, head throbbing, body damp and cold. His shoulder brushed something. A moment later, a hand moved over his arm, tightening in his sleeve.

"You okay?"

"Had better days," a thin voice wheezed.

"Gonna get you out of here. Okay, doc?" He caught the reflection of Dr. Hale's glasses as he nodded. "How bad did he hurt you?"

"Would you believe I've been through worse?"

"You got your hands free?"

Another nod. Gabriel shifted onto his side, eyes locked in the direction of the fight. Whoever was trying to hold the light dropped it. It went out like a match a second later with a crunch.

"My hands are taped."

"Turn over."

He obeyed the command, showing his back to Dr. Hale. He felt the tension of something hard against the bindings and then a snap of relief. He wasted no time in pulling himself up to kneel, reaching out for Dr. Hale. "Can you walk?"

He hooked one hand under Dr. Hale's knees and the other behind his back before he got an answer. His back and legs burned and he lifted the man and moved into a step. The effects of the drugs had faded fast, but not fast enough. He lost the rhythm of his step and shouldered into the wall. Dr. Hale grunted.

Gabriel forced himself to move, heart pounding, mouth dry, picking his way through the dark.

"Go right," Dr. Hale murmured, "Get me to an office. I can lock myself in and stay safe."

Gabriel broke into a run as they turned the corner. The sounds of the fight faded until he could hear nothing but his own panting breaths and Dr. Hale's quiet directions.

Throat dry, he stopped where Dr. Hale commanded. A door clicked open.

He set him down slowly. "Get word to Castillo, or Olsen, whoever. Comms working?"

"Got an emergency line," Dr. Hale coughed. "I can contact him."

"Do it."

"Gabriel?"

Gabriel turned for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. "Don't have time, doc. Jack needs help."

"No. Wait."

He felt a hand touch his chest, shaking. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark; all he could make out of the doctor was his outline. "You can't let her take you both. She has data but it's useless without proof."

"You..." Gabriel pushed Dr. Hale's hand away. "I'm not leaving him."

"She still has the advantage on you," Dr. Hale snapped, "She needs you both, Gabriel. You cannot let her have that."

"Don't worry. She won't have either of us. She's not leaving this goddamn building." Gabriel stepped free of Dr. Hale's reach. This part of the med wing was too quiet. He couldn't hear the fight; had no idea if it was still raging. "Stay safe. Get word out."

Before Dr. Hale could turn his stutter of words into a protest Gabriel took off down the hall.

He felt his way down the hall by muscle memory, dragging in deep, ragged breaths. He couldn't feel Jack's thoughts, couldn't hear a goddamn thing, couldn't see the sweep of light over wet floors.

His heart caught in his throat. Gabriel stumbled into a walk as he rounded the corner.

Nothing.

He came to a stop, chest heaving, body heavy. "Jack?"

The name tasted metallic on his tongue. Bloody.

_I'm here, Jack. I'm here. Please—_

Too slowly, he realized his thoughts wouldn't catch. Gabriel swept a shaking hand over his forehead. "Please, God," he mumbled, "Please, you have to be okay."

The lights buzzed before they clicked back on. Gabriel shrouded his eyes with the back of his hand. Phelps laid where he'd been found, tired eyes turned on him. Further down the hall, Jack stood at bay, shoulders shaking, breathing hard, wet hair plastered to his forehead. He was flanked by two techs and faced by Deschamps, one of her hands curled around a handgun.

"It's over," she said. Her voice was cold. Lifeless. Like she was the one who was tired. "You'll come with us peacefully. No more fighting."

"You tried to kidnap us," Jack snapped.

Deschamps recoiled, hesitation wavering in her eyes and her tightly wound stance, if only for a moment. "You used to be so obedient, Morrison. What happened?"

"Got wise, I guess."

"Waste of potential."

"You're not walking out of this one." Gabriel poured strength into his words as he stepped forward, his heart now slamming in his chest.

Jack nearly jumped, turning half on his heel before Deschamps hissed, brandishing the gun. Jack shrunk back into place, hands limp at his sides. _Thank God you're okay, Gabe._

"You're going to let Robertson put cuffs on you and you're going to come with us. Quietly." Deschamps paused, mouth pursed. "Don't make me do something I don't want to."

Jack's eyes flickered back to the gun. "You know how to use that thing?"

Challenge flared hot in Deschamps' eyes. The barrel moved away from Jack's chest, squaring up with his, instead. "You want to find out?"

Gravel crunched under approaching tires. Light moved over the ground, lighting up the trail of smoke from the stub of a cigarette clutched in Zav's hand. Distant, the roar of the freeway mixed with the sound of the car's radio, turned down to a murmur.

He sat in the car, body heavy, damp, shaking. The scene froze around him, far too familiar, the memory as sharp as a painting—except he wasn't alone. Someone shifted in the seat beside him, a hand on his arm.

_You're okay, Gabe. Keep breathing. We're gonna get out of this._

_You so sure?_ Gabriel bit down on his tongue. Jack couldn't hear him, couldn't—

_I'm sure. I've got you, Gabe._

Jack stepped in front of Deschamps. He caught a twitch in her smile before Jack eclipsed her completely. "Put it down. You don't need it."

Gabriel rolled his shaking hands into fists. Deschamp didn't step back. Instead, two soldiers moved, their eyes on him.

_It's over._

_Not yet._

_Jack, now's not the time for more heroic bullshit._

Gabriel chewed on his tongue. Outnumbered, exhausted, and in Jack's case, probably injured. All they could do was stall and hope for the best.

_We made time._

_Did we make enough?_

Jack's thoughts paused. _I don't know._ Then, _Is he safe?_

_Safe and getting help._

"What's it going to be, Morrison?"

Jack moved his hands in front of him. "Just...just don't hurt him."

"Can't make any promises."

Jack's shoulders stiffened.

_Don't._

_I...okay. Yeah. I'm good._

Robertson snapped the cuffs around Jack's wrists. Deschamps lowered the gun as promised, but stepped around him, one hand on his chest. Jack chewed on his lip, leaving it red.

"Glad you can still see reason. Now. Reyes?"

He dropped to his knees slowly, hands lifted. _If this goes sour, Jack—_

_I know._

Two techs flanked him, each grabbing one of his arms. Gabriel folded under the weight of a knee on his back, body shaking so hard with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline that he couldn't think straight. He kept his eyes locked on Jack.

The fight had left no marks on his face. Gabriel let his eyes trace over the small, faded scar set into Jack's hairline, over his strong nose, settled on that mouth he hadn't gotten to kiss nearly enough.

Jack's thoughts mirrored his own. He saw an image of himself, handsome and proud, eyes so warm his heart burned.

Gabriel tore his eyes away, throat dry.

"Good," Deschamps sighed. "Put him down. We need to move and I won't tolerate another delay."

"Don't you dare hurt him—" Jack bared his teeth, the soft image gone from his head in a second.

Deschamps turned on him. Gabriel jolted, fear churning in his stomach, too slow to stop the swing of Deschamps' arm. The butt of the gun connected neatly with Jack's temple.

He crumpled to the ground, eyes still open. Gabriel's heart surged into his throat. He almost choked on it.

"Asshole." Deschamps swung a black heel into Jack's gut, hard enough to bruise, but he didn't move. "What’d I say? Put him down."

"Yes'm."

"You don't have to do this." Gabriel couldn't hide the shake in his voice. "Please."

Deschamps' hollow eyes locked on his. "Take him down."

"You don't have to—"

Gabriel shut up fast when an arm snaked around his throat.

Deschamps stepped away from Jack, sliding the gun back into her pocket. "We're late for our ride."

The arm around his throat tightened. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, fighting down the urge to fight it. A warm, wet tear rolled down his cheek. He swallowed his fear, even as darkness crept over him, even as he fought to breathe, body shaking.

The darkness was calm and safe when it came.

-

When Gabriel awoke, it was to an orange glow encircled by a window wet with rain. Skeletal forests swept by beneath them. Gabriel watched the swell and fall of mountains for a long minute before his exhausted mind caught up with him. The muted chop of rotor blades. Whispers from across a narrow aisle. The smell of tinny coffee.

He lifted his head. Everything was beige and brown, soft leather accented by wood grain. Old-school. In the seat across from him, legs crossed, sat Deschamps.

She held his gaze. Her eyes were foggy, tired, not proud like he’d expected.

Though, she’d probably figured her plan would go off without a hitch, firefights avoided.

Gabriel tore his gaze away when it became clear, for once, that Deschamps didn’t plan on gloating. He searched the cabin. The high-backed seats shielded his view from the cockpit and the seats at the front by the doors. The chairs across the aisle were empty.

He let his head roll back toward the window, electing to speak despite the fatigue deep in his muscles and the ache in his throat. “We were here six months back,” he said, “You remember?”

Deschamps’ scrunched up her nose, but nodded. “It was raining in Portland.”

She offered nothing else before she got up from her seat and disappeared down the aisle. Gabriel stared out the window, eyes squinted at the setting sun. Where would they go? What would be waiting for them?

Was it still worth a fight a thousand feet above ground?

_It’s always worth a fight._

Gabriel sat bolt upright. That voice...that was _Jack_. It had to be.

He couldn’t see him from his seat. Gabriel leaned out toward the aisle but his wrist caught, yanking him backward. A steel cuff attached him to the window-side seat. The chain was generous enough, and his left hand was free. Gabriel tested the metal. Strong enough to hold an ordinary person down, perhaps. For the moment, in his half-drugged out state, it would hold him, too.

_You’re okay?_

_I’m fine._ A pause. _I’m up front. I can see the pilots._

Gabriel lifted his head. Jack’s voice so clear, somehow, like he was sitting in the plush leather seat next to him.

He gritted his teeth and focused hard. _How many on board?_

_Twelve including us. Got four watching me._

_They know you’re trouble._

_Damn right._

Gabriel rolled his hand into a fist. Ten was a tough fight in close quarters like this, especially given their conditions. It’d have to go off without a hitch. After their failure in the med ward...he swallowed his doubts. Focus.

_Won’t be easy. I’ve got an idea. Give me time, okay?_

_No pressure._

Gabriel closed his eyes. The hum of the machine was subtle but it caught on his nerves, regardless. They wouldn’t be taking them to the front lines. Maybe to another SEP outpost, maybe to one of Deschamps’ employers—who else would own a private helicopter like this?

They were headed straight south. That was all he could tell at the moment, with the setting sun on his right. They were probably past the closed airport where they’d fought Predators and Bastions. He searched the ground but caught no glimpse of tarmac or metal.

Deschamps returned with two cups of steaming coffee in hand. She took her time to sit, like perhaps there was a pain in her hip—had she fallen during the scuff in the med ward?—and forced a smile. She held out one of the paper cups for him. Gabriel shook his head.

“We’re well past playing nice with each other.”

“It’s going to be a long flight, Reyes,” Deschamps said, “Take it.”

“I’ll pass.”

Deschamps leaned back in her chair, one hand tucked under her chin, and heaved a sigh. “What I said last night was not like me. I’m willing to apologize. Rebuild that bridge.” She paused mid-sip, grimacing. Too bitter. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Reyes.”

“Where’re we going?”

Her eyes drifted across the aisle. “A friend’s estate. You’ll be kept in good company, I can promise you that much.”

“Your friend got a lab set up in their basement?”

Her grip on the paper cup tightened. She set it down, but there was already a dent in the side. “You are aware of your value.”

“You know how pathetic that sounds coming from you?”

Deschamps rolled her eyes. “You’re worth billions, Reyes, and you’ll be treated as such.”

“So I’ll get the whole five-star treatment.”

“Anything you want.” She lifted her cup, studying the contents with pursed lips. “So long as you and Morrison behave yourselves and act appropriately, there’s no reason we can’t all get along.”

Gabriel snorted. Act appropriately. Easier to keep two kidnapped super soldiers under wraps, that way, though Gabriel doubted the sincerity of her words. Whichever Senator was waiting for them would either cut them up, sell them off, or keep them drugged up to keep them complacent.

They were worth billions but they were also a liability, and Deschamps and everyone else on board the helicopter would know it.

“What did you want with Dr. Hale?”

Deschamps tipped her head, her eyes flicking from his down to his throat, like a predator waiting for the kill. She didn’t smile. “You trusted him.”

“I did.”

He swallowed. His throat burned with the action. He gingerly touched his neck with his free hand. Gabriel had almost forgotten the arm around his neck but the pressure returned under her gaze.

She closed her eyes. The pressure lifted. “He didn’t want to make a deal. His loss. But it’s not too late for you.”

Gabriel shifted in his seat to stare out the window.

“I can offer you something more. Put your mind at ease.” Deschamps reached into her pocket for a slim tablet. “Housing in Los Angeles has gotten expensive. Tuition costs have doubled, too.” She swept a manicured finger over the screen. He caught images and text before they vanished. “Seems your father recently lost his job. Your mother’s salary is substantial, but her company is downsizing. They’ve refinanced the house, but even with lower payments, they’ll be forced to move.” Deschamps held his gaze. Gabriel ignored the cold fear curling in his gut. “Your sister is starting college soon. Or, would be—”

“If you really wanna try this you’re gonna have to do better,” Gabriel growled. “You gonna offer to cover them? Slide them a million or two to stay afloat so I’ll stay quiet?”

“They would be more than comfortable.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

Deschamps’ eyes widened a fraction. She leaned back, coffee perched on her knee. “I know how much you care about your family. They’d be in safe hands. Protected.” She paused, mouth pursed. “I can ensure they survive this war.”

“You can’t make promises like that.”

“And yet I have,” Deschamps snapped back, “I can make worse promises.”

He held her gaze. Her eyes flickered away far too fast.

“So, what’s it gonna be? Who’s bidding?” Gabriel leaned forward, his cuffed hand braced on his knee. Metal pulled taut against his wrist. He could break it with one shot. He’d bank on it. “Better question is who can afford us?”

“I’m tired.” Deschamps took a long swig of her coffee, eyes falling closed. She got up once it was drained, brushed her hands down her blazer, and stalked off down the aisle.

No speech, then. Not for the moment. Gabriel didn’t doubt that she’d try again later.

Money could placate some. It wasn’t a bad deal to know his family was safe, but at the cost of the program restarting, after what he’d seen?

_What’s it like back there? I can’t see you. Can barely think. They’re talking so goddamn much._

Gabriel hadn’t been paying attention to the chatter up front. Two of the voices were familiar: Robertson and Fleming. Deschamps’ favorite brutes.

_It’s just me. She tried to buy me off._

_She didn’t make me an offer._

_What would you want, anyway?_

Jack’s thoughts cut off. Gabriel tipped his head back toward the window. No sign of any facilities hidden in the trees. No houses. No roads. Just trees and open spaces covered in snow.

It reminded him of a song he couldn’t quite remember. Gabriel shut his eyes for a moment, breathing deep. _How’s that plan coming?_

_It’s messy. Ain’t a lot of altitude between us and the ground but I don’t think nanomachines could save us._

_Your plan was to bail out?_

_What? No. My plan was to force the pilots to land and then bail. I’m not that brave._

_What you did back there was pretty damn brave. How did you manage to slip away?_

A pause, then: _The rest of them are in the galley at the back._

_They armed?_

_Counted four rifles on board. Not carrying any bonus ammo that I saw._

Gabriel leaned as far as he could over the seat beside him, the cuff digging into his skin. The galley was separated by a heavy curtain, through which he couldn’t see so much as a shadow. Not a big space for Deschamps plus three to hide. There’d be a bathroom and a kitchenette on board a private helicopter this size. He glanced at Deschamps’ table tray. The cup of coffee meant for him steamed.

_I can take them by surprise, so long as the guy’s upfront don’t see me._

Jack’s response came slowly. Still working through the details. _Better than the plan I had. I’ll make a fuss, you slip back there. If you have to make noise, make it. Bet my guards will check it out._

_And then you’ll cater to the pilots?_

_Don’t worry, I’ll ask nicely._ Jack’s thoughts paused. _They’re just civilians._

It was messy, but it might work. As it stood, they had few options, and less time.

_How’s your head?_

_Feel like I got hit by a truck,_ Jack responded, _But I’m fine. I can do this. Don’t worry about me. If my guards go back there, can you take all seven?_

Seven and Deschamps. Gabriel balled one hand into a fist. His reaction seemed normal, most of the drugs worn off. There was something to be said for his accelerated metabolism. _So long as you can get the pilots to land this thing, everything will work out._

_Assuring._

_We don’t have any other options._

Gabriel craned his head and listened hard. Muted voices carried past the heavy galley curtain. He grasped the handcuff chain with his free hand and gave it a sharp tug, gritting his teeth to distract from the bite of metal on bare skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, braced himself, and pulled.

The chain snapped off in his hand, barely making noise. Gabriel rubbed his wrist. He’d be fine, he just need to act, to get them both the hell out of there, and fast.

_You ready, Jack?_

_When you are._

_Go for it._

Jack’s voice rang out down the hall, a little too loud: “Hey. You wanna see something?”

“Shut up.”

“I can lick my elbow. Ever seen someone do it?”

_Seriously, Jack? That’s the best idea you have?_

_I’m not lying. Show you later if you’re interested._

_Pass._

Gabriel clambered over the seat. Only one of the guards was standing in the aisle, his back to him, enraptured _somehow_ by Jack’s promise.

He pulled back the curtain, slowly to make no noise, and slipped into the galley.

Gabriel was afforded only a second, but it was more than enough to make out the lay of the land: a narrow space lined by cabinets, everything sleek brushed steel and white marble. A metal carafe sat on the counter, still steaming. Faces turned. They hadn’t expected _him_ , that much was obvious by the sudden shift of curiosity to anger in their eyes.

He lifted his wrist, dangling the broken cuff. “You know, for someone so well-read on how to handle super soldiers, you have a stunning lack of foresight.”

Gabriel moved before any of them could respond. He wasn’t a fighter, never had been—he was at his best planning ops, knowing who was suited for what jobs, making hard calls—but he could throw a punch, evidently, the proof in a swift blow to a tech’s face that crumpled the man. Gabriel ducked under another, a tight fist whistling past his head. He rose under him, shouldering into his stomach. The tech grunted. Gabriel shrugged him off and let him fall to the floor atop the first.

Deschamps let out a scream as she dropped to the floor under a folding table. Gabriel ignored her, focusing instead on the last tech left. He could hear boots moving behind the curtain. He had seconds to act.

The tech pulled back, shoulders low, hands open and ready, his stance telling him in few words that he knew more about fighting than his coworkers. Gabriel gritted his teeth. The drug’s influence had worn off, but the drag was still there; he was far from being at his best.

He slid one foot back, dropping into stance to mirror the tech. Seconds. Only seconds.

He heard a yelp down the hall. Gabriel whipped around to face the curtain, but before he could curse himself for getting distracted, a body slammed into him, hard. Gabriel’s back hit the counters. Cups and utensils clanged against the floor.

He grappled for purchase in the tech’s shirt, his grip loose, weak. Letting out a grunt, he threw his elbow down between his shoulderblades. He got a hiss of pain for his trouble but the man’s hold only tightened as he pulled back to ram Gabriel into the counters again. His head knocked against the cabinets.

White flared in front of his eyes. Gabriel let go of his shirt, glancing around the galley. Deschamps stared at him from under the table. Broken cups covered the floor. The two techs he’d knocked out were conscious and moving.

Fuck.

He caught his warped reflection in the metal carafe.

Gabriel didn’t think. No time. He grabbed it and slammed it down on the tech’s head. It rang hollow—empty—but it dropped him all the same. Gabriel clutched the carafe like a weapon. For the moment, it was all he had.

The floor under him tipped. Gabriel stumbled until he hit the counters again. Hard right bank. His gut churned until the helicopter leveled out. He didn’t sit still.

Four bodies slammed through the partition at once. Gabriel let out a cry as he whipped the carafe into Robertson’s nose. He took advantage of their surprise to duck under them and out into the hall. Jack stood in the cockpit between the pilots, his hand on the captain’s shoulder.

_Everything okay?_

_Going fine. No trouble here._ Jack twisted around. His eyes snapped wide. “Watch it!”

Gabriel ducked. A body slammed into him from behind and moved over him to land on her face in the aisle, letting out an _oomph._ Gabriel blinked away his surprise. “She really could’ve found better help than these guys.”

“They’re still sore from the ass-kicking I gave them earlier.”

Gabriel grabbed hold of a seat, bearing his weight on it as the helicopter banked again. Jack muttered something to the pilots; he caught one of them nod before the craft leveled out. The hills grew taller outside the window.

“Ready?” Jack shot away from the cockpit, eyes focused on the curtain, drifting to the tech laying flat on the floor.

“For what?”

Jack tipped his head toward the door. “You trust me?”

“Now’s not the time to test that.”

The cocky grin on Jack’s face faded fast. He grabbed hold of the latch. “One shot, Gabe.”

“No pressure.”

The helicopter tipped left. Gabriel stumbled backward, landing hard against the back of a seat. Jack held onto the latch, knuckles whitened. With a grunt of effort he threw the door open. Wind gusted into the cabin. Below, white speckled with gray flew past.

Jack held out his hand. Gabriel took it as the helicopter leveled out, throwing his weight forward. He knocked shoulders with Jack, who stumbled, catching himself with an arm above the open cockpit door.

“Careful.”

The ground rushed past. Gabriel fought down a sudden wave of nausea. Jack’s hand tightened around his.

Closing his eyes, Gabriel jumped.

Wind whistled past his face, moving cold through his hair, a relief to his ragged throat as he sucked in sharp breaths. His stomach turned and spun. Nothing. Nothing below him, nothing to anchor him except Jack’s hand, his grip so tight it ached.

It lasted only a moment before they hit the ground running, powdery snow exploding into a cloud around them, his knees groaning under the force, but he was up and moving before he could even think to look back.

The trees swallowed them up. The chop of rotor blades carried through the air. Jack pulled him to a stop, panting, his eyes glassy but focused behind them. Between gasping breaths, he said, “They’re landing.”

Figured. Fucking _figured._ They couldn’t even pretend the fight was over for a goddamn second.

The helicopter set down like a dragonfly, white powder blowing up around it.

“Hey. Hey.” Jack gave his hand a squeeze, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “We’re okay.”

Gabriel focused on the warmth of Jack’s hand. It was a mild enough winter day, but the sun was fast fading, the last bands of orange stretching across the snow-covered field. Between trees they were shrouded in mixed bars of light and shadow.

He breathed in through his nose. The cold stung. “Okay.” He exhaled sharply, his breath catching on the air. “We’ve got two options. We run and hide or we fight.”

Jack’s brow knitted. “We can outlast them if we run.”

“Where are we gonna go?”

“Back to base.”

Gabriel shook his head. “They have a sight advantage. More man power. You said they had weapons on board?”

“Shit.”

“Fighting’s not in our favor, either,” Gabriel muttered. He bit down on his lip, hard. “We could split.”

“No.” Jack stepped closer, pulling his hand away from Gabriel’s to touch his jaw. “I’m not leaving your side.”

“Now’s not the time to be noble. We have to _think_. Fast.” Gabriel gently pulled Jack’s hand away, ignoring the flare of hurt in his eyes. “What you did back in the med wards? That was…” Rash. Messy. But it had worked. “There’s no way staff didn’t see the helicopter come in,” he said, “They have to be looking for us.”

“We can’t count on them for a rescue,” Jack snapped, “We’re at least eighty miles south.”

“They’ll be looking. We’re worth billions.” Gabriel fell into a step, his eyes on the helicopter. The sun shone against its side. Black spots moved out across the snow. “They won’t chase us forever but they’re not just gonna walk.” Gabriel chewed on his lip. “We shouldn’t have jumped. Would make the trip back easier.”

“Too late for regrets.”

“Maybe not.” Gabriel glanced back at the field where the helicopter sat waiting. “They’re gonna come after us.”

Leaving the helicopter empty save for the pilots. Jack had counted four rifles on board.

He didn’t have a perfect lay of the land, but he could think on his feet despite the haze of the drugs. He reached for Jack’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Listen, Jack. I have an idea.”

-

Gabriel crouched in the shelter of shadows, snow burning his palms, body starting to shake with the cold. He had a good view of the helicopter, painted in orange. Deschamps stood close to it, barking orders. Robertson and Fleming both bore rifles. That was a potential problem.

They fell into step as a group, Robertson up front, Fleming falling behind, his head moving to survey the forest on either side.

_You see him?_

_Yeah._

He forced himself to stay still despite his body’s insistence to shake.

Deschamps’ steps were slow. She was exhausted, but she kept up the volume of her voice. Too stubborn to cut her losses. Gabriel wondered just how much she had riding on her kidnapping attempt.

Branches shook overhead. One of the techs pulled their eyes up to follow the noise. Gabriel ducked down, cursing the birds who’d chosen to land over his head.

A sparrow fluttered to the ground by his foot. It hopped across the snow and took flight, disappearing between the trees.

_Ready?_

_Move._

Gabriel followed the bird’s example, leaping out of the hollow and breaking into a sprint, careless about the noise he made.

“There!”

Gabriel ducked his head into the run, lungs burning with cold air. It was more than enough to fuel him as he darted between trees and leapt over tangles of underbrush, leaving a wake of powdery snow on his heels.

He wasn’t much of a runner. Never had been. Fatigue gnawed at him as he moved further into the woods, the open field a dozen meters to his right. He didn’t glance over his shoulder. He could hear them, moving clumsily through the trees. They weren’t used to terrain like this. He hadn’t spent two years in the Northwest sitting on his ass on base.

Still, he cursed every step, wishing he’d given the job of playing bait to Jack.

Gabriel veered to the left, uphill, scrambling for purchase on the exposed rocks and roots to pull himself up. He gasped for breath, the cold burning his throat. The last dregs of the drugs clouded his veins, taking advantage of his exhaustion to slow him to a walk.

His heart pounded hard in his chest. Gabriel ran his hands over his exposed arms, determined to ignore the cold. Down below and behind him, fifty meters and closing, waited two super-soldiers, a slew of techs, and Deschamps herself, walking through the snow in her heels.

Gabriel ducked behind a tree and dropped onto his haunches, sucking in deep breaths between his teeth. He kept low, watching as they moved through the forest. Robertson held a rifle loosely in his hands. Gabriel couldn’t spot Fleming. That was good.

Down below, he caught slivers of their voices.

“...Should’ve given them another shot of tranqs when we got on board.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying. Wouldn’t be here if _someone_ had been thinking.”

Deschamps paused, her hand sliding into her hair; it was undone now. “Save it. Do your goddamn jobs.”

“You should’ve been doing yours.”

She rounded on him fast. Her strike rendered the assembled techs silent. The one who’d been slapped turned away, red-faced.

Gabriel ducked down again, cutting off his view. They were drawing closer now. He had no idea where Jack was.

 _Status?_ He waited for a response, teeth on the tip of his tongue. His head buzzed like it was full of static. Probably an effect of the drugs or of the cold. _Jack?_

Nothing. Snow crunched, far too close. Gabriel slid backward. The field was behind him. Jack had to be in place before he burst out of the cover of trees, or else...well, he wouldn’t be killed, he was certain of that much, but Deschamps would figure out something.

He was far too tired, his bones heavy and his head light.

If this didn’t go right—if he ended up back on that helicopter—he’d wake up in another world, the war a forgotten memory. He was certain of that much.

His foot slipped. Gabriel bit down on a curse.

 _Where are you?_ Boots moved through the forest, twenty metres and closing. Gabriel ducked down, breathing slowly. _I need an update, Jack._

Nothing. Gabriel chewed on his tongue. Deschamps passed his hiding spot, trailing behind two techs, her hand wavering over her coat pocket. Gabriel wasn’t about to test whether she knew how to use the gun or not, not now.

Robertson passed next. His shadow draped over Gabriel.

Gabriel lifted his head as they wandered past him, fading into the trees.

The thrum of the helicopter worked up to a roar.

Gabriel shot out from his place in the shadow of the trees, heart pumping, head blank. He hit the snow down below the ridge hard and stumbled, his knees aching. Shouts rang out behind him.

He curved to the right, looping back the way they’d come along the edge of the forest. He breathed hard, not daring to look back.

Orange bled over the field ahead. The helicopter waited like a beetle, carapace catching the light. Snow kicked up under the rotors.

Almost there. Hundred meters and closing.

“Shoot to injure!”

Gabriel dropped to the ground without a second thought. Snow burned against his skin. He panted for breath. _Jack—_

Snow kicked up beside him. Gabriel rolled clear of a follow-up shot and rested on his back, hands raised. “Too late for that deal?”

Deschamps signaled for Robertson to drop the rifle. He only lowered it a fraction, the barrel still smoking in the freezing air.

“Too late for my previous offer,” Deschamps barked back, “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. Jack wasn’t there, hadn’t met him at the edge of the trees, which meant...fuck, he had no idea what it meant. He couldn’t feel Jack’s presence near him, couldn’t pick up the static of his thoughts or even a drip of color.

So much for his plan, except...Fleming wasn’t among Deschamps’ group.

He lifted himself on an elbow but made no move to get up. Deschamps wouldn’t like that. “I want to know _exactly_ where we’re going.”

Deschamps rolled her eyes. “That’s it?”

“No. That’s not it,” Gabriel snarled back. “You want this transition to go smoothly, you’re gonna have to be a bit more open with me.” He held Deschamps gaze, refusing to blink when her eyes flared wide. She was coiled like a snake ready to strike, her right hand open by her jacket pocket where she hid the 9mm. “I want details. That deal for my family. That still on the table?”

Her eyes narrowed. Deschamps set a hand on the muzzle of Robertson’s rifle, forcing it down to face the snow. “With a few amendments.”

“Name them.”

One of her eyebrows rose. Her gaze slid over him. Gabriel wondered how convincingly pathetic he looked, on his back in the snow, panting for breath.

He kept his eyes off the forest behind them.

“I have connections at a facility in Minnesota. I’ll get your mother a job. Move your family.” Deschamps’ brow crinkled. Deep in thought. “It’s good work. Pay isn’t what she’s getting in LA, but I can protect them, there.”

Few Omniums in Minnesota, after all.

Gabriel chewed on his lip. “Protect them how?”

“They won’t even know they’re being watched over.”

“You love dodging questions.”

A smile curved across her mouth. Deschamps stepped back, arms crossed over her chest. Unconcerned with the gun in her pocket. Her guard was down, but Gabriel was in no position to strike.

All he had were words. He could make use of that.

He pulled his eyes away from Deschamps across the field. Jack had parted with him at the edge of the forest and moved uphill. He couldn’t catch movement between the trees.

The sun was setting fast, burning low over the hills.

“I want it on paper,” Gabriel said, “With none of your vague bullshit.”

“We’ll have time on the flight to make a draft. Get up.” Deschamps stepped away, head turned toward the forest as Gabriel stumbled to his feet. His knees ached with the effort.

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Robertson cocked a brow. Deschamps held his gaze until he backed down, shying away, mumbling under his breath: “You said we need both of these fags.”

“Jesus, Brad, watch your goddamn mouth,” a tech hissed.

“Just calling them what they are,” Robertson snapped back, louder now. Gabriel winced. The man’s eye lingered on him, heated, hateful. “I swear to God Olivia, if you had us go back at the facility and we didn’t need him all this time—”

“Shut up. He’ll follow Reyes.”

Robertson shuffled his feet, an embarrassed flush flooding his cheeks. “Right. Course.”

_Goddamn it Jack, you sure are taking your sweet time._

No response. Gabriel balled one hand into a fist, focusing on the bite of his nails on his palm.

Deschamps loosely gestured toward the waiting helicopter, still a hundred meters from where they stood, rotors humming. “Move.”

Robertson nudged him forward with the muzzle of his rifle. He kept his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the impulse to wheel around and deck him. They were all weakened, but Gabriel was in poor shape, too, and he wasn’t about to test the limits of his conditioning now, outnumbered and alone.

Robertson jabbed him again. Gabriel lost his footing and stumbled, biting down on a curse. He forced a smile when Deschamps glanced back. He could play at being content.

The shot came like thunder on a cool day.

Gabriel dropped, Robertson's heavy hand on his shoulders. A moment later the weight was gone as soon as it had come and Gabriel could breath. Snow kicked up around him. Gunshots echoed across the field.

Against a backdrop of red and orange, Gabriel saw Jack, rifle in hand, casting a long shadow across the snow.

Robertson eclipsed him. The sun glinted off the helicopter's hull as it lifted off the ground and spun to face them, bowing into an advance.

Fuck.

Techs scurried past him. Gabriel fell back, turning on his heel. Deschamps was among the crowd, running for the helicopter, her eyes focused on Robertson. "Idiot!" she cried out, "Take Reyes hostage, Morrison won't shoot!"

A shot cracked her command in half. Gabriel ducked his head and launched himself forward. He hit Robertson with less strength than planned, but Robertson still folded, hitting the snow with a grunt. Gabriel grabbed hold of the back of his neck, pushing down with every bit of weight he had.

"Get the fuck off me, faggot," Robertson snarled. He bucked underneath Gabriel.

So long as that gun stayed stuck underneath him—Gabriel tore his eyes away from the back of Robertson's head, searching for Jack among moving bodies and a haze of kicked-up snow. A shot cracked through the air, setting his teeth on edge.

"You hear me?"

"Heard you fine," Gabriel snapped back.

He balled his hand into a tight fist, breathed in, and struck hard. Robertson went limp under him. Gabriel let him go and stumbled back to his feet.

Chaos. Everywhere he glanced, more of it; techs shoving past each other to get in the path of the low-flying helicopter, Deschamps shouting commands that were useless in the noise.

Jack approached from the edge of the trees in a straight line, rifle set against his shoulder, his gaze trained ahead.

Gabriel felt red.

“Jack?”

Stupid. Shit. Too fucking loud now, with the helicopter approaching and turning broadside, door flying open. The tech’s he’d knocked out earlier swarmed in the cockpit.

Jack’s eye was trained on them, his finger hovering over the trigger.

His heart leapt into his throat. Gabriel stumbled into a run.

Techs pulled each other up into the helicopter, now hovering a meter above the ground. Deschamps’ coat fluttered in the wind as she was pulled off the ground, the last to go.

The helicopter spun. Jack broke into a run.

Too much _noise_. Gabriel could hardly think, his lungs and muscles burning, his mind blank, body moving without command, now.

Gabriel didn’t hear the last shot.

He saw the mist of Jack’s breath, the hard glint in his eyes, like light off steel. He saw Deschamps’ head turn, eyes stretched wide, her red hair a fiery halo around skin gone white, teeth bared. A crack spread across the helicopter’s hull just shy of her head.

Red dripped away as Jack lowered the muzzle and stumbled to a stop. The helicopter dipped into a bank as the door slammed closed.

Gabriel fell to his knees in the snow.

The helicopter pulled away, rotors becoming a roar, throwing up sheets of white. Gabriel sat on the ground, mind numb, vaguely aware that his hands were shaking in his lap.

Snow crunched under Jack’s feet. His head was tipped up to the sky, watching the helicopter fade to a black spot. Slowly, the noise wore away, until all Gabriel could hear was their breaths, out of sync, and the beat of his heart.

Cold hands moved over his. Gabriel didn’t lift his head.

“We should move,” Jack said, his voice so quiet Gabriel almost lost it under the sound of the wind. “We’ve got some walking to do.”

“What about him?”

Jack’s thoughts ground on the question. “They’ll come back for him and Fleming.”

Uncertainty in his voice, but Gabriel ignored it.

“It’s over?”

“Yeah. It’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait!
> 
> huge thanks to rim and orla for helping me out with this one, and thanks for being patient with me


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Explicit content, see end note

The clouds closed before the sun set.

They walked in near-total darkness, with no company save for the trees and the snow that started as the temperature dropped past freezing. The mountains weren’t forgiving; they stumbled through underbrush, fought their way up hills, only to brace themselves for a descent. When the clouds would break, lighting the forests in thin strips of starlight, Jack would pause to assess their progress.

Still in the Ozarks, by his estimation—still within Missouri’s borders—but Jack couldn’t make any better guesses, not in the dark, not when they had nothing to guide them.

“What I wouldn’t give for a goddamn map,” Jack hissed, his breath hanging on the freezing air.

One hour, at least, before Gabriel lost feeling in the tips of his fingers and offered his hands to Jack, who cupped his hands around his and breathed to warm him up. The relief was fleeting; Gabriel was shaking again in seconds. Two hours before Gabriel’s feet became numb. Three before Jack was shaking, too. 

No one would find them here; half the state’s population had fled during the Crisis and hadn’t returned. 

The Ozarks were nothing but wilderness anymore.

“Had to be fucking November,” Gabriel hissed under his breath. For a moment, he wished that the sound of rotors would break the quiet of the forest. He wouldn’t be happy to see Deschamps, but the seats onboard had been plush, and the coffee would sit warm in his stomach. He shook his head, and the desire, away. It wouldn’t do him any good. “Shame we missed out on that ride.”

“I’m sorry. That was my fault.” Jack’s voice stayed quiet, barely above a whisper. His chattering teeth were louder. “Fleming gave me more trouble than I expected.”

“Yeah. Thought so.” Three hours and they hadn’t done more than walk, the only verbal exchanges between them warnings about uneven terrain or complaints about the cold—mostly his. 

He didn’t want to talk. Not now, not when he could feel thoughts start to swill in Jack’s head, his doubts thick like smoke. He pulled himself away. Too tempting to get caught up in it. He bit down on his own impulse to replay what had happened in the soft glow of the sunset just hours before. Replaced those thoughts with an image of his room back at the facility, decorated with pictures of home, with a heavy blanket to pull over his shoulders and a soft pillow to rest his head.

Jack was absent from that image. Gabriel didn’t let himself think about why.

He felt Jack’s hand on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. Gabriel could only see the outline of his form as he moved, circling in front of him. Snow crunched under his shoes.

“You good?”

“Fine.”

“We should have hit a town by now.” Jack paused, sucking in a noisy breath as he turned away again, pulling Gabriel into step. “I swear I saw Taum Sauk before we jumped.”

“Saw what?”

“Hydro station,” Jack mumbled. “There are little towns all through the mountains, Gabe. That’s what I mean. We should be out of the woods.”

“You really studied that map, huh.”

“Been here before.” Jack’s hand on his pulled away. Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, remaining still as Jack moved ahead, twigs snapping under his feet. “Hiked for a week and a half through this forest with my Dad and my Uncle one summer.” 

Gabriel chewed on his tongue. He stomped his feet to keep the numbness at bay. “Oh.”

“We should have hit a road by now, at least,” Jack said, “Or an old hunting path. Something.”

“What do people hunt around here, anyway?”

“You worried about bears?”

Gabriel shrugged. He realized too slowly that Jack couldn’t see and stepped toward him, one hand held out against the dark. 

Jack continued, his words picking up pace. “We might be further West than I thought.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“More walking.” Jack paused. Gabriel focused on the sound of his breathing, rough, uneven. “Less chance we’ll find shelter before midnight.”

Fuck. Gabriel rubbed his hands over his forearms. He was glad for the thin layer of the sweater St. Clair had left him, but he’d been cold in the parka and full gear from their last mission.

He wouldn’t last. Gabriel didn’t say it, but he heard Jack’s breath hitch, knew that Jack heard the thought.

“You sure we’re even headed the right way?”

Jack didn’t answer. Gabriel bit down on his tongue. That was a no.

“We could build a fire.” Gabriel kicked at the snow. “Right?”

“Don’t have matches.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got that lighter handy still?”

“You think I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I did?” Jack moved in the dark, away from him. Gabriel followed, slowly, breathing deep. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Jack.”

Branches snapped. Jack moved ahead. 

“ _ Jack.” _

“What.”

“You really don’t have to be short with me.” He swallowed hard. His throat was tight from the cold air and aching from the arm that had wound around it earlier, but his nerves and unease made the constriction worse. He didn’t need that, not now. He reached ahead until his hand hit Jack’s chest. He spread his fingers wide, feeling the dim beat of his heart. He wasn’t warm, not anymore. “I’m trying to figure something out.”

“So am I, Gabe,” Jack fired back. “We can’t waste time, alright?”

“Not trying to waste time—”

“We’re wasting it right now.” 

“I’m fucking freezing.” The words dropped from his mouth, small and pathetic. Gabriel moved anyway, ignoring the uneasiness in his stomach. “I just…”

“Just don’t think about it.”

“That’s it? Ignore it?”

“Well, what else do you want from me?” Gabriel tightened his grip on Jack’s sweater as he moved to pull away, giving up with a sigh a moment later. “We need to keep moving.”

“I know. I  _ know _ .” Gabriel forced the words out through shaking teeth. Still, he refused to move. “Do you even hear yourself? We keep walking...how do you know we’re not heading away from town? Even if we survive the night out here, Jack, we don’t have food, or water. How many nights are we gonna last?”

“So you don’t trust me.”

“That’s  _ not _ what I said.”

“Yeah. It is.” Jack roughly pushed his hand away. “All you’re doing right now is doubting me.”

“That’s not—”

“I don’t want to argue.”

“You want to put your pride away for a goddamn second?”

Jack moved away. Gabriel cursed under his breath as he followed, glad for a strip of light as the clouds opened overhead. Branches shook, marking Jack’s path.

“Jack, slow down,” Gabriel puffed. Anger flared up fast between his lungs, spilling out in harsh breaths. “You’re not listening to me.”

Jack’s response came from a few metres ahead. “I am.”

He disappeared. Gabriel grabbed onto a tree, bracing himself as he glanced down the start of a hill. This one was steep, marked by outcrops of rock that shone with ice. Down below he saw nothing but the dark shapes of more mountains and the fingers of more tall, bare trees.

No sign of smoke, electric lights, or even a gap to suggest a road hiding in the valley. 

“We’re fucked,” he hissed. “I don’t see shit out there.” No answer. Gabriel peered into the trees. No sign of movement, either. He suppressed a chill, raising his voice. “Jack?”

“Right here.”

“Could you stay close?” Gabriel swallowed hard. “Please?”

Jack ghosted out between two trees. His mouth was set into a hard line. “You spent two years outside Portland, Gabe.”

“What’s that have to do with where we are now?”

“You need to relax. That’s what.” 

“Yeah, I’ll relax when you stop being stubborn,” Gabriel hissed. “Back in Oregon I had supplies. Tents, lighters, food, water. This isn’t the fucking same.”

Jack shut up. Gabriel hated the quiet as it dragged on between them, but he ground his teeth instead of speaking. He followed Jack down the side of the mountain with no further protests. The clouds stayed open, affording just enough light to navigate the slope. When they rounded out at the bottom of the ridge Jack grabbed for his shoulder and gestured ahead with his free hand. 

Gabriel hadn’t been able to see it from their vantage point above; a tiny, frozen-over creek, barely three meters across and carved half a meter deep into the ground.

Jack scurried down into the ravine to thump his foot against the ice. It cracked open easily. Black water churned. “There you go. Water. Let’s take five.”

He wasn’t shy about ignoring Jack as he stalked ahead, scoping out the sharp bend the ravine took a few metres away. The water was freezing and burned in his stomach. He wiped his hands on his sweatpants before tucking them back into his sleeves.

Gabriel folded down in the dirt, knees pulled to his chest, resting his head against his arms. He didn’t look up when Jack set himself down beside him, their shoulders barely grazing.

The quiet between them dragged on. Gabriel listened to the murmur of the ravine and the shake of the trees. It was marginally warmer, perhaps because the hollow cut the wind, perhaps because of Jack’s presence. 

“What are we doing, Jack?”

Jack kept his eyes trained ahead. His strong profile could so easily look stiff, his eyes unreadable, but now, Gabriel could feel the churn of thoughts start and stop with every twitch of his eyes.  _ Wasting time wandering through the woods, Gabe! Fuck.  _

Gabriel kept his eyes on the bridge of Jack’s nose, keeping his expression neutral, hoping Jack hadn’t sensed the invasion.

_ Fuck if it matters, we just… _

“Need to find shelter,” Jack mumbled. He turned toward Gabriel, catching him with the full force of his heavy eyes. Gabriel dropped his gaze to the dirt between them. “What do you want to do, Gabe?”

“Oh, so now it’s my call?”

Gabriel bit down on his tongue too slowly. Jack jerked his head away, letting out a hiss. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“Doing great, Jack.”

“Fuck. Fine. I guess I shouldn’t have asked.” Jack shifted, moving away. “We’ll go East. If we’re lucky we’ll hit a road.”

“I didn’t see anything from the hill.”

“I know.” 

Jack was quiet for a long moment. Gabriel kept his teeth sharp on his tongue, clamping down on the acidic thoughts brewing in his head. 

“I don’t know what else to do.”

The clouds closed. Gabriel blinked away the inky blackness until his eyes adjusted, affording him little more than the outline of trees close by. He reached out between them until his hand hit Jack’s. 

“I don’t know what to do, either.”

Jack let out a dry, bitter laugh. “We could’ve let her take us. Might be sitting at some Governer’s dinner table right now.”

“What, eating steak and drinking red wine?”

“What else do rich people do?” Jack turned his hand over. Gabriel traced his palm with cold, shaking fingers. He could barely feel Jack’s skin. 

“Maybe we should have gone.”

Jack stiffened. Gabriel leaned back against the ridge of cold dirt, heaving a sigh. “Not to stay,” he mumbled, “To see who she was working for. How deep it went. Could have blown it wide open.” 

“Ah, should have figured.”

“What?”

Jack’s fingers curled around his hand. Gabriel pulled himself closer until their shoulders touched again. 

“You’re thinking about who you could’ve helped.”

“Well, I won’t lie. A glass of wine in a warm house?” He let out a laugh that faded fast. “Maybe mulled cider, if I’m being creative.” 

Jack’s hand gave his a squeeze. Gabriel sighed.

“Five minutes is up.”

“Yeah,” Jack murmured.

He got up first, pulling Gabriel to his feet. His legs were numb and stiff. Gabriel stumbled into a walk. He couldn’t feel the cold in his feet anymore, which was half a blessing; he supposed it wasn’t a good sign, long term.

“Even if we hit a road, Jack…”

“We’ll find shelter eventually, if we do,” Jack whispered. “I’ve got a few hours left in me. You good?”

Gabriel didn’t know what answer Jack wanted, so he offered nothing and kept his eyes focused on the dark ground ahead of them. 

Jack moved in front of him. Gabriel bumped into his chest and let out a sigh as Jack’s hands moved over his upper arms, rubbing gently. “Gabe, please.”

“I’m fine. Let’s keep walking, yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

-

The ravine grew thin along with Gabriel’s patience as they walked, hands wound together, quiet again. The shadow of mountains faded in and out of sight, the clouds overhead inconsistent, but the snow steady. It flaked against his skin, melting upon contact. Not as cold as he felt, then, which was  _ good _ , if he was feeling optimistic.

Optimism didn’t take the sting out of it. Gabriel tightened his hold on Jack’s hand and got a reassuring sweep of a thumb over his knuckles. Their breaths pooled out into the freezing air, blending together in the dark. 

_ He’s so cold. _

Gabriel chewed on his lip to quell a response. Mind blank, he pulled ahead, tugging Jack behind him. Jack resisted, just for a second. Gabriel stopped and waited, standing in the space between trees, sucking in deep breaths.

Jack didn’t speak. Gabriel bowed his head to study the way their fingers were tangled together.

He hadn’t noticed the blood on Jack’s sleeve before.

He stowed the thoughts away as Jack shifted on his heels, still refusing to move. Gabriel moved closer, setting one hand on his waist.

“Need a break?”

“No.” Jack shook his head. He kept his eyes distant, trained on the trees. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Jack didn’t supply an answer. He forced a smile as he fell into a step. Gabriel tried not to think about it as he followed, tried not to take it personally when Jack’s hand slipped out of his grip.

-

He managed to keep a loose hold on the time, counting his breaths. Five hours and counting. He’d grown so cold he almost couldn’t feel it anymore. The only hint left was the numbness in his body and the chatter of his teeth. Jack’s form shook beside him, but he made no comment on it, electing to remain silent.

Gabriel was starting to hate the quiet. Even Jack’s thoughts were mild, nothing more than comments about the terrain and fleeting images of a map of the area.

When he stumbled, Jack kept moving. Gabriel panted for breath as he recovered, leaning against a tree. He reached down to touch his knee. Couldn’t feel shit on that end.

Biting down on a curse, he forced himself to move.

The trees bent and creaked under a sudden gust of wind. Gabriel wrapped his arms around himself but refused to stop moving. The wind sluiced through his curls and snow stung in his eyes, obscuring the path ahead.

“Hey,” he called out, “I can’t see you.”

The snow and the wind stole his voice.

He trudged through the snow, pouring his strength into a shout: “Jack!”

Gabriel stumbled out into a narrow clearing. The trees resumed, thick as a wall, a few meters ahead. He searched the narrow space. Couldn’t see much past those few metres with the sudden flurry and the suffocating darkness, the open stretches of sky above doing little against the haze of snow.

It wasn’t a good time to panic, but Gabriel couldn’t keep his heart from kicking up pace, nor control his breathing as it came in short, shallow puffs. “Jack?”

He heard something, but it didn’t sound like Jack, wasn’t chased by an echo of thoughts or a flash of color. Gabriel turned, surveying the clearing, searching the spaces between the trees for his silhouette. 

A full-blown shriek shredded through the quiet and raced up his spine, turning his blood cold. Gabriel darted for the trees, heart racing. His foot caught something and he hit the snow, hard. Harder than he should have. Gabriel gasped for breath as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Gabriel?”

“Over here,” he called back. Hissing, he wiped cold snow from his face. He was dimly aware of Jack as he approached from the veil of snow, picking up from a walk to a run. 

Jack fell down in the snow at his side, his hand warm on Gabriel’s back. “You okay? What happened?”

“Shit, you didn’t hear that? There’s something out here.”

“That was just a fox, Gabe.”

He went stiff under Jack’s hand. Just a fox. “Right.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s pretty unnerving.” Jack’s hand moved over his back to his shoulder, giving him a pat. “You hurt yourself?”

“Not that I can tell.”

He pushed himself up, his hands slipping in the snow to reveal streaks of brown. Hard. Grainy.

His heart beat fast as he swept more snow aside and traced the grooves in wood planks.

“This is—”

“Tracks,” Jack said, “Railroad tracks—”

Gabriel pushed himself up off the ground and grabbed for Jack’s collar, pulling him flush. The kiss was clumsy and Gabriel could barely feel Jack’s lips on his, but he didn’t let go, melting into the embrace as Jack’s arms wound around him.

He let it linger. He swept a hand over Jack’s cheek, reddened by the cold, before pulling away.

Jack sat back on his haunches, quiet and still, for a long moment before his eyes swept down the alley between the trees. “Looks like it’s running North-South,” he said, “Probably straight shot to St. Louis.”

“Will that take us where we need to go?”

“Yeah.” Jack puffed out a breath. “We’ll hit a town eventually, even if we head the wrong way.”

Jack lifted himself to his feet, one arm on Gabriel’s to steady him as he struggled, his knees numb with the cold, joints seemingly useless.

“You’re not okay. Shit.”

“I’m fine.”

Jack’s mouth moved into a hard line. Gabriel kept his eyes down, but Jack’s thoughts picked up.  _ Relax. Not the time to panic.  _ “We’re gonna make it, Gabe. Okay?” He dropped back to one knee, sliding under Gabriel’s arm. “I’m gonna get you somewhere warm.”

“Big promises,” Gabriel groaned.

“C’mon.” Jack leaned down on one knee. 

Gabriel stared down at him, blinking snow away from his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“You can barely keep yourself up. Let me take the weight for a while.”

-

By some stretch of luck Jack was still warm, and with his arms and legs wrapped around him, some of that warmth became his. It almost put him to sleep, his head tucked against the curve of Jack’s shoulder, his steps a steady rhythm. 

The trees blurred together. Where the ground was bare, wet tracks gleamed under the stars. Eventually the snow thinned out and stopped, the sky overhead cleared, the low ridge of gray clouds now behind them. 

Jack slowed from a march to a walk. Gabriel could feel Jack shudder under him. Close to midnight, then, like Jack had predicted; without the cover of clouds the cold had grown worse. 

“You okay?” Gabriel mumbled the words into Jack’s neck. Quiet. Gabriel patted one hand against his chest. “I can walk for a bit, Jack.”

“Could you talk to me?”

Jack kept pace. Gabriel chewed on his lip for a long, quiet moment. “Yeah. About what?”

“Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”

Anything. Gabriel closed his eyes and relaxed on Jack’s shoulders as he let out a sigh. “You like Frost?”

“Not currently a fan of the cold, no.”

“No. The poet.” 

“I’ve never read much poetry,” Jack mumbled. “Mom liked...Dickinson, I think.”

“I have been one acquainted with the night…” Gabriel drew in a rough breath. He sounded ridiculous, but Jack had gone quiet again, his thoughts dark, untouched waters. “I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat. And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain—”

“That’s Dickinson?”

“No, Frost. His stuff’s easier to remember.”

“Oh. How’s it end?”

“I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet, when far away an interrupted cry, came over houses from another street. But not to call me back or say good-bye; and further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky—

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.”

Gabriel coughed. “You like it? I’ve got another one.”

“Please...keep talking.”

He couldn’t remember much Dickinson, not off the top of his head, but Jack seemed to enjoy even his choppy tries at her work as he stumbled over 372:  _ After great pain, a formal feeling comes… _

Jack went quiet at the close. Gabriel let out a long breath, watching it catch on the air and fade away. “You know, I used to try to write a little. Been months since I’ve had time or patience for it.” 

Silence, still. Gabriel tightened his arms around Jack’s neck, curling closer to his warmth. “I don’t know if I was any good.”

“Poetry or books?”

“Short stories, mostly.” Gabriel paused, lifting his head from Jack’s shoulder to survey the gutter between trees. Blackness waited ahead. “I was always better at editing, though.”

“I’m sure they’re good.”

“Maybe.” 

“You still have them with you?”

“Some of the stuff I wrote in Portland, yeah,” Gabriel said.

“Could I read it?” Jack’s teeth chattered, breaking the end of his question. “W-When we get back.”

“We get back, fuck it, I’ll write you one,” Gabriel whispered. 

Jack went quiet again. Gabriel rested his head against Jack’s. 

The open stars were beautiful. The path ahead, still straight and dark, had to end, eventually. A break in the trees, a bridge over the tracks,  _ something. _

Jack kept his eyes trained ahead. Gabriel rested back against the curve of his neck and closed his eyes.

“I catch the pattern of your silence before you speak—”

He jolted when Jack came to a stop, swaying on his feet. He twisted around, blond head angling to look through the trees. “Solid black through there,” he muttered.

“Yeah, it’s dark,” Gabriel said. He picked his head up, following Jack’s eyes to the bank of trees. The space of blackness stretched behind the trees. Gabriel’s eyes strained to make out any detail. It looked close. Looked...solid.

“Jack—”

“I know. I know.” Jack bolted into a run. Gabriel tightened his arms and legs around him to avoid falling off as Jack moved into the trees, snow and twigs crunching under his feet. 

“It’s—”

“A shed.” Jack had never sounded so excited in his life. He moved along the edge of a wood-panelled wall, his breath pooling out into the cold air. “There’s a house here.”

He could see it as Jack moved around the corner. A stretch of white, broken only by a short pine tree, then the outline of a wooden deck and a few steps up to a back door decorated with a holiday wreath. No lights in the windows, no smoke rising from the stack, but the place was intact.

Shelter.

-

The inside of the cabin was stale and still. Not very generous in terms of space, but he could make out the outline of a bed and the tall profile of a stone fireplace. The floors creaked underfoot as he moved through the house. Place hadn’t been cleaned out. Probably hadn’t been occupied when the Crisis started. Despite the stale air, despite the fine dust he could feel under his fingers as he felt along the wall, it was shelter; it meant that they’d live to see morning.

The taps in the kitchen squeaked and sputtered but gave up nothing. Trying the lights was useless. Gabriel wavered at the bottom of the attic stairs, but thought better of exploring, choosing instead to return to Jack, who was rifling through the kitchen drawers for supplies they could use.

A sharp click gave way to a spot of orange. Jack grinned at him, his face aglow. “I’ll get a fire started.”

Firewood was generously stacked under the window, cold and bone-dry. There was more outside that Jack said would be no good. Gabriel wrapped his arms around himself, growing colder as his body adjusted to the environment. 

He moved to the couch set by the fireplace. On the coffee table Jack had spread out everything he’d found in the kitchen: electrical tape, a flashlight, a pack of cards, a bottle of water, and a small bottle of something else, probably aspirin. House wasn’t exactly stocked, but from what little he could see in the dark, no one had looted it.

Unattended for a few years, like half the houses in the mountains.

Orange burst to life. Jack leapt back from the fire, turning on Gabriel fast, his hands on his shoulders. “How’re you doing? Fine?”

Gabriel recoiled instinctively and ducked his chin down to avoid Jack’s eyes. “Same complaints.”

“Here.”

Jack sat down on the couch. Gabriel kept his eyes trained on the warm glow of the fire, the heat already seeping into his skin. After so long walking, none of it felt real. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on Jack’s shoulder and this was just a dream—

He yelped when Jack’s cold hands touched his bare wrists. Jack pulled back fast, wearing an apology. “I’m gonna get you warm, okay? I need you to get undressed.”

Gabriel braved Jack’s gaze. “You’re serious.”

“Uh...yeah.”

“I’m freezing, Jack.”

“I know. I know.” Jack’s touch drifted over his knee, light and reassuring. “I’m going to see if there’s anything dry here, okay? I’ll give you some privacy.”

Gabriel nodded, slowly. He stayed still until Jack left the room. He was loathe to pull off his sweatshirt, and it took far more strength to work off his sweats. He sat in a thin t-shirt and his boxers, tapping his feet against the cold floorboards, his mind blank, somehow.

Not a dream. His dreams were never so tactile.

The cold seeped into his skin. Gabriel suppressed a shiver, hands on his biceps. The fire crackled and popped, warm, inviting. He crawled off the couch and closer to the flames until he could feel a pleasant burn against the palm of an outstretched hand.

“Hey. Careful.”

“Feel like I’ll never be warm again,” Gabriel whispered between chattering teeth. 

Jack knelt down beside him. “Not your style, I’m sure, but—”

He offered plaid pants and a t-shirt proudly boasting attendance at a St. Louis fair in 2037. Gabriel snorted as he took them. “Works for me,” he muttered. 

Jack left the room again as Gabriel got dressed. His stiff limbs proved difficult to navigate. 

By the time he had the shirt over his head he already felt warmer.

“Hey. Found some blankets.” Jack moved behind him to deposit them on the couch in a pile. “You should lay down.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“You were falling asleep on the walk here.” Jack’s tone was gentle, and Gabriel couldn’t help but smile a little as he got back to his feet. “I think you’re gonna be okay, though.” After a pause, he added, “Nanos are doing their work.”

Gabriel slipped back onto the couch. Jack moved around him, draping a heavy blanket over his shoulders. He reached up for Jack’s wrist. “C’mere.”

He could think of nothing better than curling up with Jack in front of a crackling fire, but Jack tore his eyes away, shaking his head. “I’m gonna take a look around,” he said, “See if there’s anything else here we can use. Try to get some rest, okay?”

Jack pulled his hand away to snap up the flashlight. For a moment his features were still, and Gabriel fought to breathe, his stomach turning.

“Jack—”

“I’ll just keep you up. Don’t worry about me.” Jack shot him a warning glance. Telling him not to overthink it. “I’ll be here.”

Jack padded away. Gabriel flopped over on his side, eyes falling closed. The warm aura of the fire seemed to surround him, heating the cold bones of the house.

Gabriel didn’t relax until he heard Jack return a few minutes later and settle in the armchair opposite him with a sigh.

His thoughts broke up like ice in a glass.

He could worry about Jack in the morning.

-

Gabriel took time to settle. He listened to Jack’s rough, uneven breaths, determined to stay quiet, to find some rest while they were safe and warm.

Sleep didn’t always come easily, and Gabriel lingered in the space between for what felt like hours before he finally slept, only to dream of walking through a flurry of snow with Jack kept at bay by their mutual silence, the cold biting at their skin.

It was thin and broke easily when Gabriel woke with a start. He wiped a hand across his brow—damp—as he lifted himself upright. He’d moved onto the floor in his sleep, which explained the ache that had settled into his shoulder.

The armchair was empty. Gabriel’s gut settled low. Gone again. Maybe Jack was having trouble sleeping, too.

Smoke almost covered the smell of nicotine, but as he searched the room it him him, carried by a thin, cool breeze. As his eyes adjusted he made out Jack’s form on top of the kitchen table, curled up under the window. A spark hung from his hand. 

Gabriel relaxed against the couch. Jack looked peaceful, somehow. He watched as he took meticulous draws of a cigarette, blowing thin trails of smoke out the window into the night.

Fireflight slipped over his shoulder, flickering across the canvas of his white t-shirt.

Gabriel drew his blankets tight around his shoulders. With the window open he was already growing colder. Maybe that’s what had woken him so sharply. 

“Bad habit.”

Jack’s shoulders stiffened as he turned slightly, just enough to lock eyes. Shadows formed dark circles under his eyes, contrasting sharply to his cold stare. “Did I wake you?”

“No. Just can’t sleep.” Gabriel dropped his eyes to trace the grooves in the wooden floor and the fringe of the throw carpet. He felt Jack watching him and turned away toward the fire. “How long have you been up, Jack?”

“Not long.”

It sounded like a lie, but Gabriel didn’t chase his thoughts. 

Jack shifted, uncurling his legs to swing them over the edge of the table. He puffed on a cigarette, the amber end flickering with every pull. “Found half a pack. Want one?”

Gabriel shook his head despite his urge to say  _ yes _ . It would warm him up a bit, might take the edge off, but it was a poor way to cope. He felt Jack’s mind churn, realized slowly that Jack had heard his thoughts. He offered an apologetic smile as he shucked off his blankets and stood, rubbing his hands over his arms. 

“I just want to clear my head,” Jack said, “Only other thing I found was whiskey, and that’s more than just a bad idea.”

He let out a short laugh. “Back in Oregon I took up sewing again. Kept my hands busy when I was trying to kick the habit.”

“Hm. I could try it.” Jack flicked the end of his cigarette. Almost spent. He let out a plume of smoke and a sigh as he shuffled across the table, patting a hand down on the wood. “You’re shaking. Let me warm you up.”

“There’s an offer I’d never refuse.”

Jack tossed the butt of his cigarette out the window as Gabriel hopped up onto the table. Warm hands took his. “How are you holding up?”

“Well, I’ve had better days.”

“Wasn’t too cold, but exposure can be deadly,” Jack continued, “You’ve got feeling?”

He pinched Gabriel’s fingertips. With a huff, he tugged his hands out of his grip. “As much as I like getting fussed over, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Jack.”

“You’re not sore at all?” 

His breath hitched as Jack gently touched his throat. Gabriel tipped his head back. “Did I bruise?”

“Barely.” Jack kept his eyes locked on his as he drew closer, his breath warm against his skin. He pressed a quick kiss over his pulse before pulling away, smiling faintly. “I’m sorry. I had an opening and I missed it and—”

“Jack—”

“—now we’re  _ here _ , and you got hurt.” Jack’s smile faded as fast as the color drained from his thoughts. “I could have done something more, but I couldn’t think, not with everything that was happening—” 

“Hey.” Gabriel silenced him with a touch to his jaw. Jack stared at him, eyes hard. Throat tight, he forced out the words. “Go easy on yourself.”

“How can I after what happened?” Jack jerked away from his touch to snap up the pack of cigarettes and the lighter, shoving one between his teeth. He paused, thumb on the spark wheel, before letting out a sigh and setting both down. 

Jack lowered his head to rub the back of his neck. Tightly coiled, his thoughts a mess. Gabriel leaned against him, sliding an arm around his waist. 

“I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. All the ways it could have gone differently, all the ways she wanted to hurt you—I could see it, Gabe, how much she hated us. She wanted to punish us.” Jack’s eyes darted away. “I thought we were safe last night. How am I supposed to feel safe now?” There was a plea in his eyes, but Gabriel didn’t know what to say, kept quiet. “I thought I wasn’t afraid, but all I can remember is being scared that they’d hurt you, or kill you—”

Jack twisted toward him. Gabriel fell into his arms, settling against his chest as Jack’s arms tightened around him. His heart thundered, but his breathing remained steady, like he was trying to regain some control.

Color coiled up tight inside his chest. “I was scared too,” he admitted, curling his hands in the back of Jack’s shirt. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“This was my fault,” Jack said, “I’m so sorry.”

“None of this was your fault.”

“No, it is, I didn’t trust my gut, I didn’t act fast enough.” Jack pulled him tighter, one shaking hand moving into his hair. “I froze up. Just for a second. And that was enough. I won’t make that mistake again, I promise.”

Gabriel nosed against his shoulder, breathing deeply to steady himself. “ _ You _ didn’t do anything except help get us out of that mess. Look where we are.”

“In a remote house in the middle of nowhere—”

“No. We’re alive.” Gabriel waited for it to hit. Jack’s grip loosened. His mind went blank, just for a second, but that was a start. Gabriel released his hold on the t-shirt to instead take Jack’s face in both hands. “We’re alive and we’re together. Listen, Jack. You’re right that things could have gone differently, but they  _ didn’t _ . She’s gone. She’s not going to come back for us.” Not after Jack had shown his teeth. “We don’t have any guarantees, but we’re safe right now. We have each other.”

So much more he could say, but he had his own doubts; just a few hours earlier he’d been sure he would have collapsed in the snow. He stroked over Jack’s strong jaw, letting out a sigh.

“You’re right. I need to stop dwelling on what happened and focus on what we have now.”

“We’re both pretty bad for that, aren’t we?”

Jack let out a soft laugh. Gabriel released his jaw to pull Jack into another hug. For a moment they rocked together, their minds quiet. All their talk of their pasts, what they should have done, what they’d wanted, was only opposed by dreams of the future they might have, of that little house in Santa Monica. No room for the present moment. Gabriel felt a weight settle in his stomach. SEP would become a wistful memory, in time. Would he be sitting in a trench somewhere a year down the road, wishing he’d done something different in Indiana, or said something the night they’d slept entangled on the common room floor—

Gabriel lifted his eyes. There was some kind of magic in Jack’s soft gaze, in the way they held on to each other, hearts falling into sync.

“Feel better?”

Jack’s eyes scrunched up as he smiled and gave a nod. “Yeah,” he sighed, “Gabe, I…” Jack trailed off, but his smile stuck as his thoughts turned blue. “Sorry, I’m just gonna say it.”

“Say what?”

“I wish you’d kissed me the night we went to Indiana.”

“What did we both just say?” Gabriel ducked his chin down. Hands moved to hold his jaw. Jack’s eyes flickered with the reflection of the fire, warm as his smile. 

“I know. I  _ know _ . But I wish you had.” Jack pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his nose, his forehead. Gabriel’s chest ached, releasing in a laugh.

“You could have kissed  _ me _ , you know.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

“As much as you want.”

Blue washed over him as their lips met. Jack was soft and yielding, the taste of smoke light on his tongue. Gabriel ran his hands up to hold Jack’s jaw, tugging him closer as they melted into the embrace. The kiss stayed slow, gentle, perfectly synced. Gabriel’s head buzzed as he breathed in  _ Jack _ , the taste of him, the steady weight of his hands, his warmth.

He pulled back slowly. Jack’s half-lidded eyes were soft, warm. “You’re more of a romantic then you let on.”

“Maybe.”

Gabriel leaned forward, feeling Jack’s breath against his skin. He followed with a kiss, running his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, pulling out a low moan of approval that shot through him, straight to the base of his spine. Jack pressed against him, harder, more insistent. 

Jack broke away to nuzzle into his throat, laying soft kisses against his pulse, the curve of his shoulder. It was terribly distracting as Gabriel fought to put his thoughts in order, but he hardly minded.

He had felt it earlier, a yearning deep in his stomach, and here they were. Alone. Just the two of them, with  _ time _ . They’d almost died but they were here, they had this moment, had each other—

Jack kissed along his shoulder, one hand pulling the collar of his shirt open to give him access. Heat rose to his cheeks as Jack moved back up his neck, trailing kisses along his jawline until their lips met again. Hotter, now, stealing his breath away.

His knees shook as warmth spread through his body, following the path Jack’s hand made from his shoulder down to his waist, fingers hooking under the hem of his shirt. Gabriel inhaled sharply.

“Is this okay?” Jack spoke against his lips as his hand moved away to rest on his hip. 

Gabriel tipped his head to swipe his tongue over Jack’s bottom lip. He got a light nip back for his trouble before Jack pulled back, grinning. 

“Tease,” Gabriel breathed. 

“So, that’s a yes?”

“God, yes.”

Jack’s hand moved under his shirt. Gabriel couldn’t breathe as Jack kissed him again, intense and heated, confidence in every sweep of his tongue. His warm hand wandered up Gabriel’s spine, his touch light, deliberate.

To be touched like that, so carefully, so  _ reverently _ , set Gabriel’s nerves on fire. There was no hiding the shiver that chased the trail of calloused fingers. He gasped into Jack’s mouth, drawing him closer.

He wanted to touch him, but he stayed his hands, fingers brushing through Jack’s hair. His heart beat loud in his ears, drowning out the crackle of the fire and the whistle of the wind against the house. 

They were  _ alive _ —

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect.”

Gabriel fought to breathe, to focus, his body alive and thrumming under the light touches Jack traced down his chest to his waist, edging under his shirt again. Gabriel broke the kiss so Jack could tug it over his head and toss it aside. Roughened hands swept over his shoulders, down his chest, fingertips tracing around his new scars before wandering lower, leaving him breathless. Jack stopped at the band of his pants and pulled back, eyes flicking over his body. For a moment, Gabriel was self-conscious of his scars and flinched to cover his chest.

Instead, he laid his hand over Jack’s, guiding it to the center of his chest. Jack’s breath hitched as his palm moved over the raised ridge set over his heart. He gathered his courage.

“I want you to see me,” Gabriel whispered, “All of me.”

His heart thundered in his chest. Laid bare, the statement was so simple, but...Gabriel wanted  _ this _ , wanted to share a part of him with Jack, wanted to kiss him, wanted to touch him, hunger gnawing deep in his stomach. 

Jack’s thumb brushed over his new scar. Slowly, Jack leaned back in, his breath warm against Gabriel’s mouth as he spoke, the distance between them aching: “You’re so handsome, Gabe.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“How do you do that? Act so cocky and make it so cute.”

“Comes naturally.”

Jack’s broad hand moved across his chest. Gabriel fought back a full-body shiver as Jack hopped off the table and moved between his thighs, the heat of him overwhelming. One of Jack’s hands slipped low, from the small of his back down his thigh. Before Gabriel could think Jack picked him off the table. A thrill lanced through him, shortening his breaths as he adjusted, wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist. 

“Oh,” Gabriel breathed.

Jack grinned at him before leaning in for another kiss, this one soft, fleeting. He fell into a step. Gabriel wound his arms tight around Jack’s neck, their foreheads pressed together. 

He could feel how much Jack meant it, in the heat of his body and the way his hands held onto his thighs, in the bloom of color that carried his thoughts. Jack leaned him back. Gabriel gasped when he hit the bed, Jack’s body heavy on his.

“You good?” Jack pulled back onto his elbows, one brow lifted. Gabriel nodded as he unwound his arms from Jack’s neck to sift through his hair. Jack let out a contented groan. Something he liked, then; Gabriel would keep that in mind. 

“You have no idea how good,” Gabriel said, “Please, Jack. Kiss me?”

Jack kissed along his jaw, taking his time to mark a trail down to his neck. Heat followed his touches. Gabriel knew Jack was doing this on purpose, was winding him up. An ache had settled between his legs, and he couldn’t think of anything else except Jack’s touch, warm and firm and perfect.

“You’re so soft.” Jack breathed the words against his skin. One of his hands trailed up his stomach, fingertips edging over his pecs, sweeping over his scars. Gabriel felt his skin flush. Jack pressed a kiss against the scar between his ribs before he lifted his head to lock eyes. “God, Gabe, you’re gorgeous. Think I could touch you forever.” He kissed from his ribs up to the faded, curved scar under his right pec. Gabriel held still as Jack’s hand ghosted lower, his touch so light that Gabriel jerked and let out an undignified snort.

He clapped a hand over his mouth. Jack stared at him, chin resting on his pec. “What?”

“Ticklish,” Gabriel muttered, embarrassed. 

“Ah. Sorry.” Jack ran his hand back up his body, fingertips smoothing through what remained of his chest hair. Gabriel knew he would look ridiculous, but it was hard to care when Jack was still laying between his legs. “That wasn’t too much?”

This was new territory for them, and it had been years since Gabriel had been with someone, but there was no room for doubt in his mind. He pulled Jack down for a kiss, mumbling the words into his mouth: “I want you.”

“I want you too,” Jack breathed, “I’m yours.”

He tightened his legs around Jack’s waist, groaned when Jack ground against him. Jack broke away from the kiss too soon, gasping for breath.

Jack pushed himself up to sit, pulling his shirt over his head. Gabriel’s mouth went dry. He reached out to graze his fingertips over Jack’s stomach. A long, pink scar peeked out from the waistband of his boxers, evidence of their brush with Death; he’d been wrong, he’d thought it would fade. He rubbed his thumb over the ridge. Jack’s abdomen was hard, with little give, his only softness offered by a surprisingly thick treasure trail and dense chest hair.  “Oh. Wow.”

A crooked smile tipped on Jack’s lips. “That’s, uh...good. Right?”

In lieu of an answer Gabriel sat upright to kiss him. Jack still tasted like nicotine, but he didn’t care, swept their tongues together anyway, groaning when Jack nipped playfully at his lip. He fell backward onto the bed, pulling Jack down with him. 

Chest to chest, Gabriel could feel the slam of Jack’s heart.

Jack moved over him, one hand tracing down his side as he pressed light kisses to his jaw, his collarbone, his chest. He hesitated before dropping lower, reaching for Gabriel’s hand. “Can I kiss you down here?”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Gabriel tangled his fingers with Jack’s, giving his hand a squeeze. “Yes,” he breathed, “God, yeah.”

Jack pressed a kiss just above the band of his boxers, eyes locked on his. “If you need me to stop, Gabe, or if it doesn’t feel good, tell me. Okay?” He lifted his head as he pulled at the waistband, inching it down over his hip. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I will, Jack.” He ran his free hand through Jack’s hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. “You, uh...done this before?”

Jack pressed a kiss over his hip before nodding. “I’ll take care of you.”

He let go of his hand to pull down his boxers and pants together. Gabriel shimmed backward on the bed as Jack moved off him to throw his pants aside. He rested back on a stack of pillows.

Firelight crackled over the expanse of Jack’s skin, catching on defined biceps, sweeping over his chest. He struggled to catch his breath as Jack resumed his position between his legs, one hand on the inside of his thigh, the other sliding up his stomach. They locked eyes as Jack kissed his way back to where he’d left off, his mouth soft against Gabriel’s hip.

The first swipe of Jack’s tongue had him twisting a hand into the sheets. Already overheated, his heart slamming hard in his chest, he groaned at the contact, at the warmth of Jack’s mouth, the even pressure of his tongue. Jack pressed a kiss to the head of his dick before flicking his tongue, the contact sharp and intense. 

“Just—go slow,” Gabriel panted. He was already achingly hard and all-too mindful of the wetness between his legs; he didn’t need to rush this, not when they had time. He reached down to brush a hand through Jack’s hair, his heart shuddering when Jack lifted his eyes, a lopsided smile warming his face. 

He kissed the inside of Gabriel’s thigh before bringing his mouth back to Gabriel’s dick, quick to fall into a softer pace, working in broad strokes, pressing kisses against his skin.

“That’s it.” Heat bloomed under Gabriel’s skin. He pushed his hand into Jack’s hair. “God,” he moaned, “That feels so good.”

Jack’s eyes darted away as a flush worked across his skin, but Gabriel felt his smile. He melted back into the pillows. The whole world had grown so small, so insular, nothing but the fire and the bed and  _ them _ . 

He felt colors warm up in Jack’s chest. Hard to focus, but he chased Jack’s thoughts.  _ Maybe we could stay here forever, just like this.  _ Jack mouthed at him as he pushed his leg open.  _ He tastes so good...I hope I’m doing this right and he’s not just trying to be polite to spare my feelings— _

Gabriel choked on a laugh. Jack froze between his legs, eyes flicking up to meet his. 

He reached down for Jack’s hand. “You’re doing great.”

“Oh.” Jack narrowed his eyes. “You’re listening.”

“You’re kinda loud.”

Jack let out a puff that wasn’t quite a laugh, but came close. He pulled himself up to climb over Gabriel, taking his face in both hands to kiss him, slow and deep. Gabriel groaned into the kiss as he wound his arms around Jack’s waist. 

There was safety in his arms, comfort in his touch, and Gabriel couldn’t get enough, head spinning as Jack took his time, keeping the kiss teasingly slow. 

He was gone again too soon, a cocky grin brightening his face as he dipped back down between his legs. “You’re quiet,” he whispered, breath hot against his skin, “I wanna change that.”

Gabriel lifted himself up onto one elbow, a retort ready on his tongue that utterly died at the sight of Jack, face flushed, eyes intense, his mouth circled around his dick. He worked a hand through Jack’s hair as he bobbed up and down, the friction and even pressure absolutely  _ perfect.  _ Jack hooked his arms behind Gabriel’s legs, tugging him closer. God, to feel wanted like this, to be here with someone he loved and trusted—Gabriel swallowed hard as Jack switched back to slow, soft kisses. 

He’d heard. Jack smiled at him before ducking his head down, eyes closed. Gabriel brushed his fingers across Jack’s brow. If Jack wanted to hear more, well… “Just like that,” he breathed, “Right there.” He looked so good between his legs, the tips of his ears reddening, sweat beading on his brow, his whole body tensed up like he was restraining himself, like it took all of his focus. Gabriel gently tugged on Jack’s hair, pulling out a deep moan that vibrated through his skin. He threw his head back, arching against Jack’s mouth. “You keep that up and I’m gonna come,” he grunted.

Jack popped up, eyes bleary, unfocused. “You...don’t want to?”

“No. I do, I do. I’m good.” Gabriel reached down. Jack gave up his grip on his leg to wind their hands together over the bedsheets. “I’m close,” he murmured. Before he could utter  _ please _ Jack dropped back into place and Gabriel choked on a moan. 

He kept his pace painfully slow, as Gabriel had instructed. He writhed in place, tightening his grip on Jack’s hand as heat rushed down his spine with every pass of Jack’s tongue. He wound up, tight, thoughts evaporating, breath hitching. 

He’d frozen up at this point before, gotten self-conscious, had to take a break or stop altogether, but this was  _ Jack _ , this was the man he loved, the man he envisioned growing old with. He held tightly onto Jack’s hand, hyperaware of how his body was starting to shake, how his breath coiled in his chest. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, “Fuck, Jack, don’t stop.”

His heart pounded in his ears. Time stopped for one sweet moment as he came, gasping Jack’s name, grinding himself against Jack’s mouth as relief swept over him. 

Jack lingered between his legs. Gabriel gently pulled his hair. A blue eye cracked open. Jack gave him one last broad stroke and kissed the tip of his head delicately before pulling himself up on one elbow, wiping his mouth with his other hand. “Was that good?”

He fought to regain control of his breathing. “Incredible,” Gabriel laughed. “Now, get up here.”

Jack fell into his open arms with a grunt, wasting no time in kissing him again. Gabriel spread his hands out across Jack’s strong back. His skin was still hot and flushed, his face red. 

Gabriel relished in the kiss, in the way Jack breathed him in.

“God,” Gabriel groaned, “I love kissing you.”

Jack made a soft noise as Gabriel traced up over his shoulder to grip at the base of his neck. Jack had been so sweet and considerate, and Gabriel wanted to make that known. His heart swelled as he pulled back to mouth along Jack’s jaw. He felt Jack’s smile and continued, nuzzling into his shoulder as he moved one hand down Jack’s spine, his touch light enough to make Jack shake. 

“I wanna make you feel good.” Gabriel traced small circles on Jack’s back as he kissed his shoulder. “Can I touch you?”

Jack’s reply was so quiet Gabriel almost missed it: “Yeah.”

He pulled back, sweeping his hands away from the hem of Jack’s pants. “Everything okay?”

Jack lifted his weight off Gabriel and slid to the side, one leg still hitched over his, head propped up on an elbow. His smile was gone, as was the bright yellow in his thoughts. Gabriel searched his face for a hint. Had he done something, said something? 

“You didn’t.” Jack mumbled. “I just need a minute.”

“Of course.” Gabriel reached for him, tracing his fingers over Jack’s ribs. “If you’re not ready, Jack, or if you don’t want to, that’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” Jack drew in a shaky breath. Gabriel lifted his hand to his jaw, running his thumb over his bottom lip. Jack started to smile before ducking his chin down, face flaring red. 

“I’m ready. I want to. I just…” Jack sighed, trailing off as his eyes drifted over Gabriel’s body. He followed a line from the centre of Gabriel’s chest to his stomach with a knuckle. “We have time, and…I don’t want to rush this.”

“We can set our own pace.”

Jack spread his hand out across Gabriel’s stomach. He shivered under the contact, chest tightening. “I want this to go right.”

“We’re here together,” Gabriel murmured, “It’s already perfect.”

Jack’s eyes slowly widened. “You really do have a heart of gold.”

“I’m just trying to be decent.”

“C’mere.”

Jack was back to smiling as he hooked one hand over Gabriel’s shoulder, pulling them together into a kiss. He kept it light, gentle, peppering kisses along Gabriel’s jaw and cheekbones before darting back for his lips. Gabriel laughed under the attention, and Jack laughed with him as they kissed, taking their time.

“So.” Jack pulled away from him as their laughter petered out, patting a hand down on his flank. “I don’t want to assume anything.”

He lifted an eyebrow. Jack’s mouth hardened into a line. 

“About how you want to have sex,” Jack said, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be vocal,” Gabriel murmured. He kissed Jack’s chin before slipping out from under his arm. “I don’t suppose you found anything else useful with those cigarettes?”

Jack shifted on the bed to sit upright, legs splayed. “You can say condoms.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Jack snorted from the bed. 

“Lube would be ideal, too,” he grunted. He slid off the edge of the bed, mindful of his nakedness, all too aware of how Jack’s breath hitched. He hid his smile as he moved toward the dresser. It was coated in a fine layer of dust and an array of photographs, each one of a different breed of dog. Inside were neatly folded pairs of socks, what looked like an old wallet, and bottles of pills long expired. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Straight shot down that hall.”

Gabriel wandered into the dark. The firelight bled across the floors, ending before he reached the bathroom door. Cold tiles burned his feet as he flipped open the medicine cabinet, fumbling in the dark over what felt like tubes of toothpaste and hairspray, until he hit a string of packages. He pulled out the tube right next to it—most people would leave them together, right?—and all but rushed back to the bed, throwing his findings at Jack’s chest.

Jack slowly picked up the string of condoms. “...Feeling a little ambitious?”

“Smartass. Can you check the expiration date?”

“Got two years left.”

Gabriel flopped down on the bed next to Jack, close but not touching, checking the label on the lube. “Fuck,” he groaned, “It’s flavored.”

“So?”

“It’s strawberry shortcake.”

Jack rolled onto his side, reaching for the tube. “It can’t be that bad,” he grumbled, plucking it from Gabriel’s hand. 

He watched, one eyebrow cocked, as Jack popped off the cap and squeezed a drop onto a finger. He inspected it closely, mouth pursed, before sticking his finger into his mouth. Jack froze up immediately and stuck out his tongue.

“Told you.”

Jack tossed the bottle at him. “That was far from adequate warning.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Jack moved into his space, breathing against his lips. “Mmm, think so.” 

Gabriel held his breath as Jack moved over him slowly, his heart starting up again. Jack kissed him, gave him a nip, swept his tongue against his lower lip. Gabriel shivered under the attention. He could feel a fire start to burn again under his ribs, could feel it in Jack’s chest, too.

He hooked an arm around Jack’s neck to pull them close. He spread his hand through Jack’s hair as he felt down his stomach, enchanted by the way his breath stopped, the way his abs tensed up. He followed the trail of thick hair down to his waistband and gave it a tug. “May I?”

“Please.”

He ran his hand back up Jack’s stomach instead, shivering as he groaned into his mouth. Jack rolled over him, pressing against his thigh. Gabriel pulled Jack into a deep kiss as his felt for the button of his pants, popping it open on the first try and pulling down the zipper. He slipped his thumb under the band of Jack’s boxers to pull them down just enough to take him in hand.

Jack let out a tight gasp. Gabriel pressed kisses to his jaw as he adjusted his grip. He was half-hard, his skin almost burning hot. His touch had Jack panting into his mouth, turning redder with every stroke. Gabriel rubbed his thumb over the head of his dick, taking his time, slowing his rhythm. Jack all but whined, pressing against his hand.

Heat rushed down his spine. He kissed Jack’s shoulder, bit down lightly just to hear his breath hitch. “Let’s get you undressed, hm?”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed.

The angle was awkward, but Gabriel managed to get his pants halfway down his thighs before Jack rolled his eyes and hopped off the bed to shuck them off, awkwardly hopping on one foot. Gabriel’s laughter was muffled when Jack sprang back onto the bed, kissing him hard. 

Gabriel kissed him back in earnest as he put his hands on his shoulders, rolling Jack off him and onto the pillows. Fingertips brushed down his chest as Gabriel tossed a leg over his hip to straddle him.

He could feel Jack’s heat under him but held back, sitting on his haunches, hands braced on Jack’s stomach. 

His whole chest had gone red, highlighting the scar that cut straight across his lower stomach. Jack’s head rolled back onto the pillows, eyes glazed over with the burning want Gabriel could feel under his skin, too. He let his eyes rove over Jack’s stretched out form, over the expanse of his flushed skin, the smooth curve of his muscles. Gabriel let out a long, deep sigh as a smile settled on his face. He traced his hand up Jack’s side as he leaned over to kiss him, soft and slow. “Handsome devil.”

Jack smirked back at him, but there was adoration in his eyes. “C’mere.”

“I’m already here.”

“Come  _ closer. _ ” Jack spread a hand behind his thigh and gave him a gentle tug. Gabriel didn’t hesitate to move over him, heart pounding as he settled, letting out a slight gasp as his hard length pressed against him. He rocked his hips slowly, shivering at the contact, enraptured in the way Jack seemed to melt under him.

“Better?” he mumbled.

Jack’s grip tightened on his thigh. That was a  _ yes _ . He spread his free hand over Gabriel’s stomach, thumb caressing his skin. “God,” he groaned, “You feel so good.”

“This is still okay?”

“More than okay.”

Gabriel canted his hips. He was aching, but Jack wanted to take it slow, and he was right—they had time for once, a place to themselves, for once. He watched his face as he gently rubbed himself against Jack, but he couldn’t hold himself back, needed to kiss him, needed to feel those strong arms wrapped around his back. 

He could feel Jack’s want in the kiss, in the way he lifted his hips to rock against him, in how his hands started to shake. Gabriel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip before pulling back to sit. He let out a laugh as he leaned away for the condoms and lube.

“This is still, uh…” he hesitated as he tore one off from the string. Gabriel swallowed hard as he gathered himself, his gut twisting with nerves. 

Jack snorted. “Gabriel.”

“What?”

Jack pushed himself up on one elbow, grinning up at him. “Gabriel,  _ angel _ , kiss me.”

He struggled to breath, his question forgotten as he leaned down to peck Jack on the lips.

“I want this. I want  _ you _ .” Jack kissed him again, soft and tender, taking his time before letting Gabriel’s face go. “I’ve been dreaming about this.”

Gabriel jerked his chin away to stare at the condom in his hand. “You have?”

“You’re surprised?” Jack cocked a brow.

“Well...did it go like this in your dreams?”

Jack’s eyes wandered to the fireplace. “No,” he said. “This is better.”

“Sap.”

Jack sat up, hands falling to circle Gabriel’s hips. He bumped their foreheads together. “Gabe, you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met, and I’m so lucky to be with you—” 

“Come on.”

“I mean it.” Jack pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m ready if you are.”

He swept a big hand over his bicep. Gabriel shivered under him. “I am. Touch me?”

Jack grunted his approval as he shifted one hand between them, teasing at Gabriel’s hip. He pulled himself up enough for Jack to touch him. 

“Yeah. Like that,” he mumbled. He reached down for Jack; the angle was awkward, so he moved to the side before taking him in hand again, matching his strokes to how Jack was touching him. “You have any idea how good that feels?”

“Think so,” Jack groaned.

Jack rubbed him in slow circles that had him arching into the touch. He tried to focus on mimicking his touches, focusing on the head of Jack’s dick, but with desire curling tight in his stomach, he couldn’t manage much and gave up with an awkward laugh. “Let me.” He kissed the words against Jack’s jaw as he ripped open the condom. 

He sat back on Jack’s thighs and took him in hand, swiping his thumb over the tip to pull a groan out of his boyfriend. He rolled it on and leaned over Jack to kiss him again, teasing fingertips along his stomach. 

Blue flooded his mind as Jack pulled him back into his lap. Gabriel braced himself with one hand curled around his neck, fingers back in Jack’s hair, his other hand on Jack’s hip. 

Jack lifted his hands back to cup Gabriel’s jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Gabriel melted into it, his heart pounding, skin hot where they touched. He reached between them, easing down, biting hard on Jack’s lip as his nerves lit up. God, he had never wanted it so much, like there was living fire under his skin. He kissed Jack with vigor, tightening his grip in his hair. 

He lifted his hips, laughing against Jack’s mouth as he set the angle right. Gabriel sank down on him, the slide easier now, breaking the kiss to breathe.

Oh. He let himself settle, adjusting to how good Jack felt. He suppressed a shiver as he lifted himself slightly, just testing the waters. He rocked slowly. Jack let out an appreciative groan.

“This is good?”

“Perfect,” Jack breathed. 

Gabriel slowly picked up pace, focused on Jack’s uneven breaths as he ground against him, pleasure shooting up his spine and dancing through his nerves. He bumped his forehead against Jack’s as he slowed back down to a stop. “I need a minute.”

Jack hummed as he pressed a kiss to Gabriel’s temple. “Of course.”

“Lube might help.”

“Sure.” 

He kept still as Jack leaned over for the bottle. Jack’s girth would take getting used to. Gabriel fought down a smile at the idea, his heart giving a tight squeeze. They had time  _ now _ , and there’d be time later, too, time for them to learn each other. He lowered his mouth to Jack’s shoulder as he fiddled with the lube, letting out stray curses before finally returning, his fingers coated.

Gabriel pulled off him and leaned to the side as Jack reached down for his dick. “How much do you think you need?”

“Just...be generous,” Gabriel said. “...More. A lot more.”

Jack simply shrugged before setting the lube aside. “My hands are gonna smell like shortcake for weeks.”

“Small price.”

Jack lifted his chin. “Mmm, you got me there.”

Gabriel ran his thumb over Jack’s lip, getting a smile in trade for the gesture. “That should be good. I...it’s a pain, sometimes.” Jack furrowed his brow, a question in his eyes. Gabriel stuck out his tongue. “Part of being on testosterone.”

Jack curled an arm around his waist, securing him. “Tell me if you need more, okay?”

In the warmth of his embrace, Gabriel relaxed again, sliding his hands over broad shoulders. Jack’s eyes were as soft as his smile. He couldn’t resist the temptation to kiss him, sliding their tongues together, their pace slow, agonizing. Lifting his hips, Gabriel moved against him. That would more than do. He picked himself up again, taking his time to fall back down, spreading his legs a little wider. There.  _ Perfect. _ Gabriel broke away to kiss down Jack’s neck, panting against his skin as his heartbeat sped up. “God, Jack,” he groaned, “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?”

Gabriel let out a laugh. “You really need the affirmation?”

“Well, I don’t mind it.”

“You feel  _ amazing _ .” Gabriel snapped his hips for emphasis, revelling in the way Jack’s breath caught. “You’re so good to me, Jack. You—” He hissed as Jack thrust up into him, thoughts scrambled. “Really, Blondie?”

Jack grinned at him in lieu of a response. Gabriel hooked one arm around Jack’s neck to pull him into a kiss. He kept his pace slow, even, rocking in Jack’s lap just fast enough to have his boyfriend melting against him and panting against his mouth. He let his eyes fall closed, focused on their breathing—synced—the warmth of the fire, the way the light crept across the creases in the bedcovers and smoothed over their skin. It didn’t take long for him to lose himself in it, time slowing to a crawl. Jack’s skin was warm and smooth, his kisses burning, the way he held so tightly onto Gabriel making his head spin. 

He almost couldn’t stand it. 

“You’re perfect,” Jack mumbled against his neck, “You look so good right now.”

“Yeah?”

Jack kissed across his collarbone, taking his time, orange taking up the free space in his mind. “Feels like a dream.”

“I love you, Jack.” Gabriel swept a hand across Jack’s brow, melting as Jack’s eyes locked on his, warm and full of adoration. “I love you so much.”

Jack’s mouth opened, but Gabriel didn’t need to hear it, not when he could feel it curl up inside him in a burst of color. They kissed again, falling backward onto the bed. Jack searched for his hand, gripping it tight as Gabriel rode him, his body wound up, his breaths shuddering.

He wouldn’t last, not like this, not when he could feel what Jack did, not with the way Jack was holding on to him like he was the only thing left in the world. Gabriel kissed along his throat before diving back for his lips. He could feel Jack writhe under him, his muscles starting to shake. “Fuck me,” he groaned, “Please, Jack.”

Jack curled an arm around him and flipped them over with ease, setting Gabriel down on his back. He grinned up at his boyfriend, but Jack’s expression was serious, full of intent, and he fought back a shiver of anticipation.

Jack gripped one of his legs, pulling it up over his hip. “As you wish.”

“Seriously.”

“I’m trying to be romantic.”

“You gonna keep quoting Princess Bride?”

“Only if you like it.”

Gabriel fought back a laugh. “You can be pretty damn cheesy, Jack.”

“Call me Monterey.”

“Are you really gonna make puns while you’re  _ in me _ ?”

Jack hid his grin in Gabriel’s neck, distracting him with a long, slow thrust that had him curving up against his body. Despite the terrible pun, Gabriel was still aching, his body threatening to overheat. He gripped Jack’s ass, pulling him closer. 

“Alright, smartass,” he panted, “Make me come?”

“I think I can do that.”

Jack rolled his hips. Gabriel arched his back, closing his eyes as his nerves lit up. Jack started slow, working in long, smooth strokes that had him shaking and whispering Jack’s name. He gripped him tightly, digging his nails into his strong back, moving with his thrusts. 

Slow and careful, just how he liked it, just how he’d dreamed about it. His head swam as Jack picked up his pace only slightly, panting hard between deep kisses.

God, Gabriel could go like this for  _ hours _ , just taking their time, but he felt like he was going to burn up, needed to come. Jack was close, too; he could feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the way his kisses got messier and his breathing became sharper. 

Gabriel slipped a hand between them to touch himself, gasping Jack’s name, the brink teasingly close. Jack abandoned his slow pace to thrust into him hard and deep, each stroke hitting him just right. He rolled his hips to keep pace, but he was already gone.

Fireworks shot off under his skin as he came hard, gripping to Jack so tightly his fingertips went numb. He felt Jack kiss along his jaw, dipping down to his throat, the feeling amplified, electric. Jack ground his hips against him, his breath stuttering, chasing him over the edge. His whole body shook as he came, too, breathing Gabriel’s name like a prayer.

They laid together as they came down, breathing hard.

Gabriel moved a shaking hand over his bicep, giving it a squeeze. “Wow,” he breathed, “Fuck, Jack.”

Jack laughed against his skin. “That was…”

Gabriel kissed the top of his scruffy blond head. “Not half bad.”

Jack simply laughed harder, his back shaking. Gabriel loved the sound, how awkward it still was. He ruffled a hand through Jack’s hair, slightly damp with sweat. His whole body was thrumming with warmth.  _ Could stay here forever. Screw going back to SEP.  _

The thoughts faded as Jack picked himself up onto his elbows, kissing Gabriel’s jaw. “Don’t think I’ve ever felt this good.”

Gabriel simply sighed. He could close his eyes and melt into the pillows, comfortable with Jack’s weight on top of him, with the crackle of the fire, the howl of the wind outside. Perfect. Simply put, it was  _ perfect. _

“Look at you,” Jack sighed, bumping their noses together. “Could get used to seeing you like this.”

Gabriel snorted. He squirmed to free an arm and reached down to squeeze Jack’s ass. “You’re heavy.”

Jack’s eyes scrunched up before he let out a laugh. “Alright. I’ll get cleaned up.”

Jack pulled himself off Gabriel, leaving him alone with a kiss as he shuffled down the hall. Gabriel curled onto his side to watch the fire, how the tongues of color danced. The cold started to gnaw at him far too soon. With a groan he slipped out of bed, a little sore, to find his boxers. Too cold to sleep naked, even with Jack beside him, so he burrowed under the covers, pulling them up over his head. The blankets were a little stale, but definitely clean, thank God.

“You cold already?”

Gabriel popped his head out from under the duvet. Jack stood by the foot of the bed, one eyebrow cocked. He groaned and rolled over again. “Come warm me up.”

Jack bent over for his clothes and pulled them on before sliding into bed, taking his sweet time to settle next to him, close enough that Gabriel could feel the warmth of his skin, which wasn’t close enough—he wanted to touch him, curl around him. Reluctantly, he turned over onto his back.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course.”Orange danced in his eyes. He brought a hand up to Gabriel’s shoulder, touching him so lightly he barely felt the contact. He slowly brightened. “I just...haven’t had this before, and…”

“We’ve spent lots of nights together, Jack.”

“I know. That’s not what I mean. I’m so happy to be here.”

Yellow clouded his thoughts. “I am too,” he said. Resting back on the pillow, he allowed himself to look at Jack, to study his profile in the low light. He traced a finger along his jaw. “We should try to sleep. Got a lot of ground to cover come morning.”

Jack hummed his agreement as he shuffled closer. “You wanna be big spoon or little spoon?”

“Tonight? Little.” He rolled onto his side as Jack settled into place, one arm slung over his waist, knees tucked up against the back of his. Eyes falling closed, he focused on the warmth of his body, the pace of his breathing. 

Sleep lapped at the edges of his mind, disturbed only by Jack’s movements as he adjusted, nuzzling in to press a kiss against the back of his neck. 

Jack whispered plans for the morning into his ear as he drifted off. His whole body was heavy and pleasantly warm, the little space they’d found almost like home, for the moment. Endorphins were responsible for the way they melted together, but nanomachines kept their hearts and lungs in sync. 

Sleep overtook him, drowning out Jack’s voice. It was heavy as a stone, keeping him still, leaving his dreams empty. Peace lingered there, orange against the dark.

He became aware of a hand on his chest and a current of thoughts, rolling like gentle waves.  _...Can never come that close again. Not when he has a home waiting for him.  _ A thumb swept over the scar centered in his chest as his thoughts paused, coiled.  _ He’s so peaceful. Like none of it happened. He did say he was better at putting it away...hope he’s okay. Not just saving face.  _

_ I have to do better. For him.  _

Gabriel cracked open an eye. The fire had burned low. One of them would probably have to get up and throw more wood on the fire, but Gabriel stayed still in Jack’s arms.

“You’re awake.” Jack stiffened. Gabriel reached for the hand curled over his chest, giving it a tight squeeze. “Is it morning?”

“No. Did I wake you?”

“I don’t know how your thoughts can be so  _ loud _ ,” Gabriel teased. 

Jack pulled himself closer, letting out a sigh as he settled with his chin on Gabriel’s shoulder. “What’d you hear?”

“You worrying.”

“Oh.”

_ He can probably hear me right now.  _

“Yeah. I can.” Gabriel let go of Jack’s hand and pulled away, leaving space between them so he could roll over onto his back. Silvery eyes danced away from meeting his. “What’s going on, Jack? Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, Gabe. I’m just...overthinking.”

“Noticed that much.”

Jack kept quiet. Gabriel gave up on the idea of pressing it and instead reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. Some of the cold had crept into the cabin with them.

Hard to keep bitterness at bay when Jack pulled away from him and slipped out of bed. Gabriel rolled onto his side to watch the fire. 

Feet padded across the floor. Jack eclipsed the stone fireplace, tall and stiff as a statue. “I made you a promise. You remember?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“After I got sick. When I—” Jack turned away, one hand sweeping over the back of his neck. “I promised you I’d stay open, that I’d talk to you, and...it’s not easy. It will never be easy for me. I want to get better, Gabe. I want to  _ be _ better. For you.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, pushing his hand across the blankets. Gabriel knew what he needed and gently touched his palm, relaxing as Jack’s hand tightened around his. “I can’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about your kindness, your courage, the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes scrunch up when you smile, and, God, I can’t even say it, I can’t even think it, and I don’t know why.” Jack turned toward him, a faint smile on his face. He rubbed his thumb over Gabriel’s knuckles. “You deserve to hear it too, and...I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Gabriel released his hand to throw the blankets back. He sat up and slipped onto the edge of the bed beside his boyfriend, suppressing a shiver at the sudden cold. Jack was warm, and he curled closer, winding one arm around his back, letting the other rest on his knee. “Come back to bed. Still want to be big spoon?”

“Could we switch?”

“Of course.” Gabriel lifted Jack’s hand to kiss his knuckles, giving him a slight tug. Jack followed with a smile as they burrowed back under the duvet, Gabriel slotting himself around his boyfriend. It took a minute of shifting to get it just right. Gabriel wound his arms tight around Jack’s waist, hands curled into fists in his t-shirt. They let out a sigh in unison as they settled. 

For a moment his head was blissfully clear. Jack was warm and he smelled  _ good _ , earthy and clean. He was solid in his arms, every breath more assurance that they were  _ alive _ . Gabriel nuzzled closer. Jack huffed as he shifted to get comfortable.

“Hey, Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Goodnight.” Gabriel pushed himself up to awkwardly kiss his cheek. He could feel Jack’s smile and practically melted against him. “And hey. If you start to overthink again...wake me up and we’ll talk it out. Okay?”

“You need your sleep,” Jack grunted.

“So do you. And wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

Jack relaxed as he let out a sigh. “You sleep like a rock.”

“Only when I’m with you.” Gabriel kissed his cheek again, just to annoy him, but Jack was grinning, one eye cracked open. “Hey. One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Love you.”

Gabriel couldn’t help himself, peppering kisses against Jack’s cheek until he was laughing and squirming in his arms. Jack twisted to meet his lips, leaving him breathless when he rolled away, closed his eyes, and settled back into place.

“Hey.”

“Thought you wanted to sleep,” Jack grumbled.

“You know Langston Hughes?”

“No.”

He pulled himself closer to Jack. “I’ve got another poem. Think you’ll like this one.”

“Mm.”

“I catch the pattern of your silence before you speak. I do not need to hear a word. In your silence, every tone I seek is heard.”

The quiet, when it came, felt like the words Jack couldn’t say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter contains sexually explicit content. no feminine terms are used for gabe in this chapter. 
> 
> thanks for sticking with me and this fic, i love all of you ♥
> 
> huge thanks to my friends in the daily r76 discord for helping me out as i figured out how to go about writing this chapter, couldn't have done it without you!
> 
> as always thanks for reading! mwah

**Author's Note:**

> skiesovertatooine.tumblr.com


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